


How Misha Collins Got His Wings

by Mistyeyes73



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angel Wings, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Car Accidents, Consensual Infidelity, Divorce, Domestic Violence, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Established Jensen Ackles/Misha Collins, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Homophobia, How Do I Tag, Hurt Jensen Ackles, Infidelity, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Mindfuck, Oral Sex, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Protective Misha Collins, Rape/Non-con Elements, Repressed Memories, Secret Relationship, Serious Injuries, Vaginal Sex, eventual destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-06-19 18:06:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 64,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15515562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistyeyes73/pseuds/Mistyeyes73
Summary: Misha had seen hundreds of pictures depicting himself as an angel.  Some of them were fantastic, and others required a great deal of imagination to be able to distinguish exactly what the picture was supposed to depict.  But this was one of the former.  A set of glowing wings was rising from his back.  Every feather was clear and distinct, snowy white with a soft golden sheen.  Yet the wings were transparent enough that the background could still be seen through them.  “That’s incredible!” Misha exclaimed, admiring.  “How did he do it?”The story of how the most amazing photo op pic Misha has ever seen further complicates his already-complicated life.





	1. Photo Op

**Author's Note:**

> The tags are confusing and I'm sure I did something wrong or missed something but I really don't want to give too much story away right up front so this will have to do for now. For the record, I am not saying anything about these people or their real life relationships. So don't get your panties in a twist.

            Photo ops were generally all the same.  Some were great, with happy, excited fans eager to get their picture taken with him.  Others not so much, like the ones around the time a group of assholes who had been petitioning to have him fired showed up to disrupt things.  Some were memorable for good reasons, like the fantastic cosplay he’d seen.  Others were memorable for bad reasons, like the time he’d been handed a dead squirrel wearing a trench coat as a prop.  And the fact that Supernatural’s fans were mostly female presented its own special problems.  Misha had long ago decided that when it came to innuendo, flirtation, and outright sexual assault, women were far worse than men while dealing with the actors of their favorite TV shows.  He hated being treated like an animal.  Fortunately, his natural optimism always helped him recover quickly.  He and Jensen even had a bet going on who would get groped the most this convention.  They’d made the bet at the last three conventions now, with the prize different each time, and Misha had only lost once.  This time, the winner got to tie up the loser the night after the convention finished and do whatever he wished for one hour.  Misha already had some ideas he was considering.

            At least thinking about fun times with Jensen helped with the monotony of the photo ops.  He’d already been at it for a while, and still his line stretched out into the hall.  By now, Misha was an expert.  Bring in the fan, pose for the camera, hold the prop if there was one, and smile, smile, smile.  Above all else, smile.  The Creation staff that ran the photo ops did what they could to remind him of that, standing nearby smiling brightly as they kept a careful eye on the fans.  Already, they’d quickly, quietly, and firmly removed three fans who had groped Misha.  Annoying, but unfortunately it went with the territory and was precisely why they all wore cups.  Besides, the higher his count at his solo set, the better his chances of winning his bet with Jensen.  He was torn between a blindfold or ice cubes.  Jensen tied up and blindfolded could be all kinds of fun.  He was so squirmy that simply randomly touching him when Jensen had no idea what he was doing sounded delightful.  But on the other hand, wouldn’t Jensen squirm even more if he was tied up and being tortured with ice?  Either way, Misha would make sure to give his lover a memorable experience.  He always did.

            He’d just decided on the ice cubes when he finally noticed the strange man.  He was wearing a black leather motorcycle jacket with matching chaps and boots over a white t-shirt and torn jeans.  The man was well-built and very attractive, with dark green eyes, high cheekbones, and long dark lashes.  His full lips were curled in a self-satisfied smirk.  By the time Misha noticed him, he was third back in line.  The man had already drawn the attention of the Creation bodyguards, who had casually moved a little closer, ready to intervene in case Misha needed assistance.  Two more smiles, clicks, and excited, flush-faced fans later, and the man was strolling up to Misha.  “I have a specific pose in mind, and I’d appreciate it if the picture wasn’t taken until I said to snap it.”

            “Alright?”  Misha put on his smile and braced inwardly, expecting something weird.

            “Come forward a step, mmm, one more.  Ok.  Now just hold your hands in front of you, just like that, and let me check.”  The man moved, not towards Misha, but towards the camera man, who smiled pleasantly even as he refused to yield his place with his equipment.

            The man didn’t seem to mind.  He stood next to the camera and held up his hands, framing the shot.  Misha heard something strange, a jingling sound like tiny bells.  The sound seemed to be coming from behind him, but a quick glance back showed nothing.

            “Ok, Collins, if you’d just look straight at the camera and give us a Castiel smile, there you are.  Cas, pop ‘em!”

            “Excuse me, pop ‘em?”

            “Not you, Collins, you just hold still and smile. Alright, now snap the picture!”

            Click.

            “Perfect.  Mr. Collins, thank you very much!”  And just like that, the man was gone, off to join a long line of faces that had long ago largely blurred together.  Once again, Misha heard the odd jingling sound behind him, and once again, there was nothing to produce it.  But that was it.  Nothing weird after all.

            The camera man was looking a bit odd, but the next person in line was already stepping up, arms outstretched for a hug shot. The photo op went on, his single set wrapping up and his sets with other actors starting, each with its own long line of eager faces.  By the end of the final set, Misha’s grope count was up to five and his face ached from smiling.

            “Misha!”

            It was the camera man.  Normally, the Creation staff didn’t interact much with Misha other than to tell him where to go and what to do unless he needed them to help him with something or another.  But the other man was gesturing, looking so serious that Misha immediately came over.

            “You remember that guy with the leather chaps?”

            “Um...”

            “He had you step forward and said something about popping ‘em?”

            Misha snapped his fingers.  “Yes, I remember!  What about him.”

            “What did he do to you?”

            “What do you mean?  He never touched me!”

            “He put something on your back?”

            Misha took a look behind himself.  “Not that I can see, why?”

            He handed Misha a picture.

            Misha had seen hundreds of pictures depicting himself as an angel.  Some of them were fantastic, and others required a great deal of imagination to be able to distinguish exactly what the picture was supposed to depict.  But this was one of the former.  A set of glowing wings was rising from his back.  Every feather was clear and distinct, snowy white with a soft golden sheen.  Yet the wings were transparent enough that the background could still be seen through them.  “That’s incredible!” Misha exclaimed, admiring.  “How did he do it?”

            “Um, that’s what I was going to ask you!  He had to have put something on your back, I mean, look at those things!”

            “He never touched me!  He was standing over by you the whole time.  He had to have done something with the camera.”

            “I never moved away from my camera, and he didn’t get close enough to tamper with it!  Someone had to have come in behind you with something, you didn’t feel anything?”

            “Not a thing!”  Misha thought.  “I heard something, like bells, little jingle bells?  But there wasn’t anything there.”

            “Then how the hell did he do this?”

            “I honestly have no idea.”  Misha looked again at the incredible photograph.  “Any way I can get a copy of this?”

            “You know I can’t do that.  But I can ask the staff to keep an eye out for that guy when he comes to pick it up, let him know you’re interested in a copy and ask him how he did it.  We’ll see what he says.  Long as he gives the word, I’ll send you the JPEG.”

            Best he was going to get.  Misha admired the picture again and shook his head.  “I have absolutely no idea how he did this. But it’s hands down the best picture of Castiel I have ever seen.”

            Then the Creation staff were here, urging him on for his panel, and Misha forgot all about it for now.  The staff was obviously on to him.  It was a running joke among the Creation staff that Misha Collins would be late to his own funeral.  He was notorious for wandering off, chatting to people or lost in his thoughts, and be late or sometimes flat-out miss engagements he’d been scheduled for.  His handler at the last convention had gotten so flustered with him that she’d threatened to put him on a leash if he wandered off again, and part of Misha thought she might actually be serious about it.  No matter.  His panel was with Mark Pellegrino, and those were always fun.  Then the rest of the day went by in a blur until he was finally back in the privacy of his hotel room.

            To his delight, Jensen was waiting for him. Misha made certain to pull the blinds and double-lock the door.  And as soon as he was sure their privacy was secure, he turned to Jensen.  “Five!” Misha announced, dropping everything in his hands to reach his boyfriend.  “Beat that!”

            Jensen slid his hands into Misha’s back pockets and squeezed his ass.  “Now it’s six.”

            “I’m counting that in the total.”

            Jensen’s lips moved, whispering in Misha’s ear.  “Only if you can keep from groping me!”

            Misha’s count remained at five.

            The next day was the final day of the convention and more of the same, photo ops, autograph sessions, panels.  Misha was eager to get back to the hotel room to meet up with Jensen and find out who had won their bet when the cameraman from the photo ops stopped him.  “That guy picked up his picture, and left you a note on a business card.  Says you’re welcome to a copy.  I’ll send you the jpeg.”

            The picture.  Misha thanked the man and hastily looked at the card.  “Heaven and Hell Show” it said.  There was an address, and a phone number.  Misha flipped the card over and saw the note written on the back.

            “You can have a copy.  If you want to know how I did it, give me a call.  - DW”


	2. Dammit, Jared!

            “Dammit, Jared!”

            “What’s in it for me?”

            “Just get over here, Jared.”

            “This is the second time you idiots have had to call me to come and save you.  Have you considered that maybe bondage isn’t for you?”

            “Now, Jared!”

            “He said, using his daddy voice, even! Misha, do I need to point out that you are currently asking me for a favor here?  If I want, I can hang up this phone and call the hotel security to come in there and save your sorry asses, and just wait for the tabloids to catch wind of the story!”

            “Jared...?”

            “I can just see the headlines. ‘Supernatural co-stars found cheating on their wives in secret gay tryst with each other!’  I cannot wait for them to contact me for a quote.”

            “Jared, I swear I’m going to eviscerate you if you don’t get over here!”

            “And here come the threats.  How about a little ass-kissing, Misha?”

            “Fine.  Jared, oh great and wonderful costar...”

            “I’m the lead actor, bitch!”

            “Oh great and wonderful lead actor to whom we all look up and not just because you’re freakishly tall...”

            A snort came over the phone.  “What’s the number for the National Enquirer?”

            “Oh marvelous, handsome, charming, witty, dashing and intelligent Jared, whom I can only try to emulate in my wildest dreams, would you please be so kind as to come over and save your two bumbling coworkers from their own inexcusable stupidity?”

            “Now you’re talking!”  There was a click and the line went dead.

            “Tell me he’s coming over?” Jensen groaned.

            “He’s coming over.  Of course he’s coming over.  I could hear him getting dressed in the background while we talked.”

            “I hate him.”

            “Me, too.”

            “I’m glad you made that call.  I could never spill that level of bullshit.”

            “I have no pride or shame.  Whatever I had, the two of you destroyed with your constant torturing of me on set.  Now you’re doing the same thing to poor Alex!”

            Jensen shifted his arm, adjusting his wrist in the handcuff.  “Someone’s gotta raise the kids right!”

            “He must spend so much money on therapy sessions talking about the two of you.”

            “Last I checked, there were three of us tormenting that kid.”

            “It is fun,” Misha admitted.  “And there’s a certain amount of giddy joy that comes with it not being me for a change.”

            Jensen pulled up the covers with his free hand and shivered.  “I’m banning ice cubes from the bedroom from now on.  I’m freezing!”

            “It’s only water.  Why did you have to insist on whipped cream?  I’m all sticky!  Last time you did something like this it was cherry pie filling!  What is it with you and sweet sticky substances?”

            “I like to hear the noises you make when I lick them off.”

            Misha made one of those noises now as Jensen abruptly licked at one of his sticky nipples.  “Ok, I can kind of see the appeal of this.  But understand, the best part of tying you up is watching you squirm. And you really squirm when ice is involved!”

            “And now I’m lying in soaking-wet sheets, and we didn’t even get off!”

            There was a knock on the door.  “Room service!” called a high-pitched voice.

            “Dammit, Jared, get in here!” Jensen yelled.  “I’m freezing my ass off!”

            “I had better not see any man meat when I open this door.”

            “Just get in here, you insecure asshole!”

            “I’m leaving.”

            Misha clamped his free hand over Jensen’s mouth. “We’re covered, Jared!  Will you please come in and help us, oh wonderful and perfect one?”

            “That’s the spirit!”  The door clicked and Jared strolled into the room, carefully shielding his eyes.  “Where’s the key?”

            Misha pointed with his chin, keeping his hand over Jensen’s mouth.  “It’s on the floor in front of the table there.”

            Jared picked it up.  “This is, like, right next to the bed!  You couldn’t reach it?”

            “It was literally an inch out of my reach.”

            Jared started laughing.

            Jensen twisted his head free.  “Dammit, Jared, would you just give us the key already?  This isn’t funny!”

            “Oh, yes it is!  That’s twice now you idiots have chained yourselves to a bed and got so involved in your hot sexy times that you accidentally knocked the key out of your reach!”

            “I’m sorry,” Misha grumbled.  “With us both cuffed by one wrist to this bed, positioning was a bit awkward.  Besides, the blood was having a little difficulty getting to my upper head.  I’m surprised I didn’t kick that table sooner!”

            “Oh come on, Misha!  He’s not that good-looking!”

            “I am so!”

            “I also had whipped cream on my cock at the time.”

            Jared grimaced.  “Don’t need to know, but seriously, Misha, that’s all it takes?”

            “And it was down Jensen’s throat.”

            “TMI!”

            “That was after Misha shoved one of those ice cubes up my...”

            “For God’s sake, I really do not need the details!”

            “You could give us that key and leave at any time,” Jensen pointed out.

            “And miss this golden opportunity?”  Jared was poking around the room.  He brightened when he spotted Misha’s cell phone.  “Bet I can guess your password!”

            Misha fell back onto his pillow.  “I’ll get comfortable.”

            “Come on, Jared!”

            “Got it!”  Jared’s thumbs flew over the phone.  “Oh look, it’s Misha’s Twitter account.  Let’s post something, hmm, how about, ‘Anyone got a spare handcuff key? Got myself a bit locked up.’ There.  Let the Mishaminions run wild with that one!”

            Misha groaned.  “I hate you, Jared Padalecki.”

            “Are you taking a picture?  Jared, do not take our pic-  Dammit, Jared!”

            “Have you ever stopped to think about just how frequently the words ‘Dammit Jared’ come out of our mouths?” Misha asked.

            “We work with him.  That means swearing at him comprises half of our vocabulary.”

            Jared smiled as he worked the phone.  “Sending that to myself, there we go!”

            “What’s it going to cost us to get you to delete those?” Jensen asked.

            “Let’s talk dollars.  I can be bribed!”  He named a sum that was more than Misha had made last year.

            Jensen winced.  “Can we deal a little bit?”

            “Or, I can delete them if you agree to give Misha a manscape.  With wax.”

            “Deal.  Sorry, Mish.”

            Misha groaned again.  “Dammit, Jared!” 

            Jared had apparently moved on from the phone and was going through Misha’s wallet.  “Ooo, credit card, where can I find a pair of scissors?  Oh wait, what’s this?  A love note on the back of a business card?  Misha, you sly dog, do you have a side boyfriend?”

            Jensen sat up.  “What?”

            “It’s about a picture someone got of me at the solo photo op,” Misha explained.

            Jared held the note up accusingly.  “There is a phone number on this card, and the words ‘give me a call’ are clearly written on the back!”

            Jensen was staring hard at Misha now.  Misha sighed.  “Let us go so we can clean up a bit and we’ll come over to your room. Then I’ll tell you both the whole story.”

            Jared crossed his arms over his chest.  “Or, you could tell me right now?”

            Misha grabbed the covers and whipped them off, displaying himself and Jensen.

            “Holy Mary mother of God, I did not need to see that!” Jared yelled, clamping his hands over his eyes.  “I’m scarred for life!  Misha’s got come all over his thigh!”

            “It’s whipped cream, and why are you looking that hard at my thigh?”

            “I wish it was come!  Misha knocked the key down before either of us got to that point, and it turns out realizing you’re trapped handcuffed to a bed naked is a real mood killer.”

            “We could finish up right here and now?” Misha offered, reaching down to grasp Jensen.  “Or, you could give us that key, let us get cleaned up, and I’ll tell you all about that note.”

            Jared tossed the key at them and fled, slamming the door behind him.

            Jensen grinned, thrusting up into Misha’s hand. “We could still finish?  But after you take the cuffs off.  From now on, only one of us is in bondage even if the bet does end in a tie!”

            Misha freed himself from the cuff and unthreaded it from around the headboard.  But instead of freeing Jensen, he tossed the key back onto the table and began pulling the other man out of the bed.  “Finishing sounds like a good idea!”

            “Come on, let me go!  The bet ended in a tie, you don’t get to tie me up.”

            Misha calmly pulled his hands behind his back and snapped the second cuff around Jensen’s free wrist.

            “Asshole.”  Jensen’s breathing was already quickening as Misha’s hand tangled in his short hair, forcing him down.

            “Why don’t you see what you can do about that whipped cream down there?”

            It turned out Jensen could do a great deal, even in the limited amount of time they had.  That beautiful mouth was made for sucking cock.  Too bad he vetoed any more ice, even though Misha let him use more whipped cream.  “You think I need a manscape?”

            “Om-ga-ma!”

            “Didn’t you momma ever teach you not to talk with your mouth full?”

            Jensen’s answer was to lick at his balls, and soon Misha couldn’t talk, either.

            They were both sticky by the time Misha pulled Jensen up, turned him, and shoved him face-down on the bed, one hand already fumbling for the lube.  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, tracing the fingers of his hand down Jensen’s spine, down the crack of his ass.  Then his lubed finger went deep.  “You are so fucking beautiful!”

            “Shut up and do me!”

            No need to ask twice.  As much as Misha loved getting head, nothing matched being balls deep in Jensen.  He reached forward, fisting Jensen in time to his own thrusting, loving the way Jensen squirmed and writhed beneath him.  He succeeded in making Jensen come first, crying out as hot liquid spurted onto the bed and Misha’s fist before Misha climaxed as well.  I love you.  I love you. Three little words.  Four if you counted what he really wanted to say.  I love you, Jensen.  Misha screamed those words in his mind every time they had sex, every time he touched Jensen, every time he was near him.  Jensen, I love you.  If Misha ever slipped up, said them aloud, what would Jensen do?

            But Misha already knew what he’d do.  He’d run.  Jensen would flee back to his life as the handsome TV star who was married and a father and respectable and most of all straight because that’s who he had to be.  Supernatural couldn’t last forever.  When the show ended and Jensen had to find work again, he needed to be able to play the romantic lead.  And despite how progressive the world was becoming, everyone knew all too well that it was not ready for a gay man in that role.  Misha was flamboyant and in an open marriage, and all too aware that his job options would be limited after the show finished.  But in the end, he’d still have his family for as long as he wanted it.  He’d never told Vicky the truth about him and Jensen, but he suspected she’d guessed. She didn’t mind.  The two of them didn’t have a loving marriage, but it worked and had resulted in two beautiful children and a stable home environment. But Danneel was considerably less cosmopolitan.  Jensen’s wife wasn’t happy in their marriage, but she’d reaped the benefits of it, even landing a guest starring role on the show.  She’d never be content to just let him go.  And if she ever knew the truth, she’d do all she could to ruin them both.

            He understood why Jensen stayed so deep in the closet.  Realizing Jensen’s feelings for him had been a blessing only Jared knew about, and him only because he’d barged in unexpectedly during a particularly hot make-out session in Misha’s trailer.

            Jensen was panting, lying quietly on the bed.  Misha quickly freed him from his handcuffs and brought him into the bathroom.  There he quickly washed, dried, and dressed them both.  Jensen did little to assist, letting Misha do this, care for him almost as if he was a child, because it was what they both needed.  There was so little that Misha could do for Jensen.  This had to be enough.


	3. Heaven and Hell

            “It’s got to be something he did with the camera,” Jared declared, his eyes locked on the picture Misha had just e-mailed him.  “It’s incredible, but especially if he never touched you?”

            “No so much as a handshake.”

            “Then it’s a camera trick!”

            “Whatever it is, it’s amazing,” Jensen said, looking at his own copy. “To be perfectly honest, that’s even better than the new angel wings on the show!  Look at the detail, all the individual feathers.  There’s even a few here and there that are out of place, and one hanging loose.  This looks like a real pair of wings!”

            “I know!  Misha, we need to find this guy and introduce him to the effects people on the show!”

            “So you think I should call him?”

            “I don’t know about that,” Jensen warned.

            “It’s cute when you’re jealous, Jenny.  Misha, call this guy!”

            Jensen pushed his co-worker.  “What if this guy’s some kind of freak?  Wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to lure a celebrity into a private meeting and jump on them!”

            “So we go with him!”

            “How is that better, Jared?  Then instead of just Misha, he pulls a gun on all three of us!”

            That made Jared pause.

            “There’s no harm in calling him, right?” Misha suggested.  “If he wants to meet, we do it in a public place.”

            “Precisely!”

            “I still don’t like it,” Jensen announced.

            Jared rolled his eyes and turned back to Misha.  “How big is this guy?”

            “Around my height, medium build.”

            “Ok, we are three healthy men.  I’m fairly certain we can handle him if he tries anything!”

            “Unless he pulls a gun on us,” Jensen grumbled.

            “Jensen, would you please stop thinking about guns?”

            “He can’t shoot me over the phone,” Misha pointed out.  “Step one, let’s call him.”

            Misha was already suiting action to words.  He had the card in his hand and was busy dialing on the hotel room phone. “I’ll turn the volume up and hold it so we can all listen.”

            “Um, do you realize it is two o’clock in the morning?” Jensen asked.

            Misha had not.  But the line was already ringing, and after two rings a sleepy voice answered.  “This is Dean.”

            Of course.  Misha rolled his eyes.  “This is Misha Collins.  You gave me your card?  I wanted to talk to you about that picture.  Sorry I called so late, I hadn’t realized what time it was.”

            “Right!”  The man’s voice was suddenly awake.  “You liked that, huh?”

            “Very much!  I’d love to know how you did it?”

            “Well, I’m happy to share, but if I just told you over the phone, you’d never believe me.”

            “Try me?”

            “I had my angel stand behind you and open his wings.”

            Misha chuckled.  “That’s very funny.”

            “Told you you wouldn’t believe me.”

            “And your angel would be Cas, right Dean?”  That produced a sigh and a grimace from his coworkers.

            “I hear your tone.  Don’t think I don’t hear your tone, Collins.  You called me at two o’clock in the morning, so don’t give me a tone!”

            “I’m sorry about my tone,” Misha said humbly.

            “Look, I honestly could not give two shits if you believe me or not.  No offense, but I hate your show.  It has caused us nothing but trouble.  But Sam’s a fan for some reason I still cannot figure out, and I got worried some asshole Hollywood lawyer would try to sue us...”

            “Actually, the show is filmed in Vancouver.”

            “I think we have pretty much exhausted the limits of this conversation.”

            “Wait, Dean!”  Misha sighed. “Alright.  I’m sorry, but you have to understand, you’re hardly the first person who’s come to us with something like this.  There are a lot of people trying to scam us.”

            “Really, Collins?  A lot of people have paid out the nose for a photo op with you and gave you pictures that could only have been created with supernatural means?”

            “Ok, I think you’re pushing it now.  There’s obviously a logical explanation.”

            “I’m all ears.”

            Misha pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Alright.  How did you do it?”

            “As I said, we’ve exhausted the limits of this conversation.  And worse, you’ve got my boyfriend sitting here giving me the hairy eyeball because for some reason he likes you.  So let’s work something out.”

            “I’m open to suggestion.  And sorry about your boyfriend, I didn’t mean to wake either of you.  I didn’t realize what time it was.  Could you please apologize to him for me?”

            “Misha Collins says he’s sorry, babe!  Ok, he just waved a hand, I guess he’s cool.  Alright.  The only way you’re going to understand is if you see for yourself.  So guess what?  It’s your turn to come to our show now!  The address on that card is where we’re set up right now.  Admission is $10 a person, which, since it’s about a tenth of what I had to pay just to walk through the front door for one day of your damned convention, I’m reasonably certain you can afford.”

            “You realize most of that doesn’t go to us?”

            “Don’t give a shit.  Show starts at noon, stick around afterwards and we’ll talk.  See you then.”

            Then Misha was listening to an empty line.  He hung up and looked at his expectant friends.  “Apparently, we are going to a show tomorrow.”

            “What kind of show?”

            “I have no idea.”

            After that, Misha returned to his room, alone, of course.  He and Jensen had already had a close call when someone came unexpectedly to Misha’s room in the morning to talk to him about an upcoming event and Jensen had been forced to hide in the closet.  The irony of that hadn’t escaped either of them.  Lesson learned.  Now Jensen never stayed with him unless they were somewhere that no one knew where to find them.  Unfortunate. He knew both of them loved waking up together, usually with Jensen wrapped in Misha’s arms as the little spoon even though Jensen was larger and always complained that Misha was a furnace. But holding Jensen was one of the best things in Misha’s life.  Little wonder he even did it in his sleep.

            His sleep was restless and by the time he was in the car with Jared and Jensen, Misha was feeling out of sorts.  He was uncharacteristically surly as he sat in the back seat of the car they rented.  No one spoke. Of course not.  They’d all rescheduled their flights, taking an extra day to follow up on what was quite likely a fool’s errand.  But Misha’s curiosity was piqued, and he knew his friends felt the same.  Still, it hadn’t escaped him that, even in real life, he always seemed to end up in the back seat.  His friends took turns driving.  Misha never drove when the three of them were in a car.  That’s probably why he was always regulated to the back seat.  No matter.  He napped a bit, and before he knew it. Jared was parking the car.

            There was a crowd, but not a big one.  They’d arrived at what appeared to be an empty bit of farmland.  Jared had parked in a roped-off area with a sign labeled “Parking.”  An arrow indicated “Tickets and Refreshments,” and farther on, “bleachers.” And the biggest sign of all was in front of them.  The three stayed in the car for a moment, looking up at the sign.  “Heaven and Hell show!” it proclaimed.  “Featuring Demon Dean, Satanic Sam, and Celestial Cas!”

            “Yeah, I think I understand why it is this guy’s worried about getting sued,” Jared said.

            “Not too late to turn around?”

            “Jensen, we drove all this way, we may as well check it out!”

            Misha was already climbing out of the car, adjusting his hat, wig, and sunglasses.  “According to the sign here, today’s the last day,” he said.  “I thought it looked a bit, well, temporary.  Must be a traveling show.”

            “Yeah, but a show for what?”  Jensen was out of the car now, his own disguise in place.  “I swear if we pay to get in here and it turns out to be three guys reenacting a scene from Supernatural, I’m kicking both of your asses!”

            “Consider it a vacation,” Misha urged.  “You got one day with your two best friends before we go back to routine.”

            “In all seriousness, how are things at home, Jensen?” Jared dared.  “You and Danneel still fighting?”

            Jensen’s shoulders slumped.  “It’s starting to affect the kids.  J-Bird’s been acting out.”

            Leave her.

            “I know that feeling, brother.  We just got married too quick, then the kids and the show and all the traveling...?  Honestly, separating was the best thing we could do for the kids,” Jared said.  “That, and have a long talk about how just because mommy and daddy don’t love each other anymore, it doesn’t mean we love them less.  Now we smile and wave and keep up the happy couple act for the cameras, but she’s got her life and I’ve got mine.”

            “It’s different for you,” Jensen mumbled.  “I think Danneel suspects something.  She’s accused me three times now of having an affair.”

            “To be fair?” Misha said quietly.  “You kind of are.”  Leave her, and come with me.

            Jensen pulled his hat down further over his eyes.  “Yes, thank you, Misha.  And if I ask her for a divorce, you don’t think that will come up in court? Before you ask, no, I don’t think she knows about the two of us.  She knows we spend a lot of time together, but most of the time we include Jared, so I think we’re ok.  But even if I leave her, you know I’ll be expected to start dating.  I can’t go through that again, ok?”  He clenched his fists.  “I’m so sick of pretending to be something I’m not!”

            Go to him, hold him, tell him it will be alright.  Misha forced himself to do none of the above, watching with his hands shoved firmly into his pockets as Jensen’s beautiful face flushed in frustration.

            Jared put one of his long arms around each of their shoulders and turned them towards the entrance.  “How about we just enjoy this show?”

            Misha allowed himself to be led by his friend.  He couldn’t even hold Jensen’s hand in public.  He desperately wanted to tell his lover that it was alright to come out, that he would see him through whatever comes.  Except it wasn’t true.  The world already knew Misha was eccentric and open about his sexuality.  But if Jensen came out, it would be a bombshell, and if Danneel realized that Jensen had been having an affair with Misha, she’d ruin him.  She might ruin them both.  So swallow the pain, Misha.  Support Jensen, be there when he needs you.  Put your head down, shut your mouth, keep your hands in your pockets and just be there.

            The bleachers didn’t look particularly safe.  If anything, they looked like they’d been purchased from Ikea and put up in haste shortly before the show.  It may have been true.  People were climbing all over them, making them creak and groan as the weight distribution shifted.  But everything to do with the show appeared to be hastily built and temporary.  The ticket booth where they paid their admission was nothing more than a TV tray with a man seated behind it on a folding chair with a cash box and a roll of tickets.  He also served as the cashier, moving away from the cashbox, leaving it unattended, to go into a tiny, rickety-looking RV to bring out popcorn, candy bars, drinks, and ice cream he sold on order.  Against his better judgement, Misha purchased a giant bucket of popcorn and a drink.  Both were surprisingly good.  The other two got drinks as well, along with a candy bar for Jared and an ice cream cone for Jensen.  Neither had any complaints.

            Once they were seated in the stands, they could see what had been hidden from view behind the signs. Out in the field were a set of ramps, setting up what could only be vehicle jumps.  The closest one looked pretty standard, two ramps on either end of an open space.  Further on in the field were some more dangerous-looking ramps.  One had an alarmingly large space between two ramps. The other was simply open.  That one was puzzling.  There was only a single ramp.  Misha wasn’t sure what it was for.

            Misha took advantage of the opportunity to speak to some fellow suckers in the stands.  “Exactly what sort of show is this?”

            “They’re stunt performers.  Really good, too!  This is the second time they’ve come through town, and I couldn’t wait to see them again.”

            “Stunt performers?”  Misha tried to process that.  He pictured Dean.  “Motorcycles?”

            “Sam drives a motorcycle.”

            He smiled.  “And Dean drives, let me guess, a classic car?”

            The woman laughed.  “Oh no! He drives that!”

            Loud rock music had begun to play.  Misha followed her pointing hand and saw something high in the sky, steadily growing larger as it approached.  Down below, the man who had been selling tickets was apparently doing double-duty as an announcer.  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the final night of the Heaven and Hell show!  Raise your eyes to the southern skies, and give a big welcome for Demon Dean!”

            It was a jet.  Demon Dean was driving some sort of custom modified fighter jet, black and sleek and gleaming in the sun.  Misha could feel his jaw drop as the jet swooped low, the engines rotating downward. The damned thing could hover.  It actually appeared to bow as the pilot, dressed in black and wearing a shining black helmet, gave a little salute while the crowd cheered.  Then he was off, flying around the field, coming back around in a wide loop. Apparently, Dean wasn’t afraid of flying.

            “That may actually be cooler than the Impala,” Jared said.

            “It’s a tie,” Jensen grumbled.  For some reason, he seemed personally offended.

            “Well, he is certainly cooler than you!”

            “Shut up.”

            The announcer had activated something, and a ring of flames suddenly lit up at the ramp with no partner.  Now he was back at the microphone.  “Ladies and gentlemen, introducing Satanic Sam!”

            The jet was back, moving at some speed.  A ramp had opened beneath it, and a figure dressed all in red riding a red motorcycle shot out of it.  He passed through the ring of flames, hit the ramp and zoomed down.  Dirt flew as the rider leaned into a sharp turn, coming around fast.  Then the front wheel was off the ground, the motorcycle racing past the excited crowd on the rear wheel.

            “Now that is how you make an entrance!  Well guys, I have to admit that Satanic Sam is definitely cooler than I am.”

            “That’s a pretty low bar, Jared.”

            Misha wasn’t paying attention.  His eyes were fixed on Satanic Sam.  The man seemed determined to die a gruesome death.  The red motorcycle’s engine roared, racing up another ramp to go hurtling into space at breakneck speed.  He soared over empty space, moving steadily down as gravity reclaimed its hold, only barely managing to remain airborne long enough to reach the other side.  Misha cheered and clapped with the rest of the crowd.  “These guys really are good!”

            “I really think Sam should ride a motorcycle in the show,” Jared mused, watching as the rider raced around.  “We could get this guy to perform the stunts.  He’s already got that big empty space between those ramps there, see?  We could green screen something cool!  Some kind of monster, or HOLY SHIT!”

            Down on the field, Satanic Sam had gone for another jump, but suddenly the empty space between the ramps was no longer empty.  Demon Dean was back, the jet roaring through the space between the ramp just as Sam made his leap.  From the stands, it didn’t look like the jet’s wings had more than a few inches to spare between the ramps.  It was precision flying at its finest, the jet racing through the space in time for the motorcycle to leap over it, then head back into the sky just over the heads of the crowd as Sam landed safely on the other side.

            Misha forced himself to pry his hands off of the edge of the bleachers in time to clap.  That had been heart-stoppingly close to disaster, and the jet had passed close enough that the air was thick with fumes and heat from the exhaust.  Even Jared had gone quiet, his eyes wide in shock. Jensen was grinning with delight, clapping wildly.

            Meanwhile, in the shock of having the jet seem to be about to take off his head, Misha realized he’d lost track of Sam.  But the red motorcycle was back on the field, this time with a passenger. The newcomer was wearing a white outfit with a white helmet, similar to Sam’s and what Dean appeared to be wearing. But tassels trailed from his arms and shoulders, streaming out behind him like fluttering wings.

            “Welcome our death-defying aerial performer, Celestial Cas!”

            Celestial Cas was getting up, standing on the seat behind Sam, using Sam’s shoulders for support.  And Sam was pushing the big motorcycle, racing for the smaller ramp.  Meanwhile, Dean was coming around, flying in low.  The jet caught up just as Sam and Cas went off the ramp.  Cas jumped from the airborne motorcycle, flipped neatly through the air, and somehow managed to catch hold of a rope dangling from Dean’s wing.  By the time Sam hit the other ramp, Cas was already swinging on the rope, grabbing a handhold on the back of the jet.  The jet came around to buzz the stands, letting Cas, who had gotten to his feet on the wing with one hand holding on to the body of the jet, wave to the cheering crowd.

            “A wingwalker!” Jared called, excited.  “Yeah, he’s absolutely cooler than you, Misha!”

            Misha ignored him.  His eyes were on Cas as the jet shot straight up into the air.  “He’s got to have attached himself somehow, but I can’t imagine that feels good,” he said.  “The rate he’s climbing, those are some serious G forces!”

            “I didn’t see any straps,” Jensen said.  “But they’re a bit far to see them.  Know what else I didn’t see?  A parachute! If he falls, he’s going to be a bit more celestial than he probably wants to be!”

            The words were barely spoken before the figure in white suddenly leaped from the plane.  Now the flowing tassels really looked like wings as Cas soared, arms spread, through the air.  Dean made a sharp turn, dipped one wing, and caught Cas with deceptive ease.  Misha cheered with everyone else as the jet turned, displaying its passenger clinging to the wing.  Then Dean banked sharply and went into a barrel roll, flinging Cas into open space again.

            “That is one hell of a huge level of trust there!” Jensen called as the jet dipped down and caught Cas once more.  “Wing walkers do not do shit like this.  It is obscenely dangerous!  To just jump off of an airborne plane and trust the pilot to be able to fly well enough to catch you?”

            “You wouldn’t catch me?” Misha asked.

            “Mish, I would never let you do anything that stupid in the first place! If you insisted on wing walking on anything I was flying, I would have you strapped to it so tight you’d barely be able to move.  The fact that they’re fall and you die levels above the ground aside, if that bastard misses his mark by a few inches, Cas gets sucked into the engine or cut in half by the wing!”

            “I told you they were good!”  It was the woman Misha had asked about the show earlier.

            “Good, yes, they’re absolutely good,” Jensen agreed.  “But I think I understand why they only put on temporary shows.  This is just too dangerous.  This show would get shut down if it stuck around too long!”

            “Guys!”  Jared was pointing wide eyed at the sky.

            Dean had tossed Cas from the wing once more.  But this time, he appeared to have missed catching him.  The figure in white was heading towards the ground some distance from the jet.  His arms were back, his back arched in a swan dive with the wing-like tassels trailing behind him.  He really did appear to be flying, and it would have been breathtaking if it wasn’t for the fact Misha’s heart was in his throat as he saw the figure in white hurtling closer and closer to the ground.

            The jet’s engines roared.  It spun, diving nose-first towards the ground, and then abruptly changed course, coming belly-first towards the falling figure.  It didn’t seem possible he could pull out of the freefall in time. But the belly of the jet made contact. Cas almost seemed to be hugging the aircraft as Dean again changed course, skimming the ground while inverted before starting a graceful arch back into the sky.

            All around him, the crowd went wild.  Misha leaned forward on his bleacher and focused on remembering to breathe. “Holy fuck!”

            “I know!” his neighbor squealed.  “The first time I saw that, I nearly peed my pants!”

            Jared was on his feet, screaming and cheering for the performers.  But Jensen was shaking his head.  “Too dangerous.  Just way too dangerous!  Isn’t Cas his boyfriend?”

            “He said we woke up his boyfriend,” Misha recalled, remembering to clap. “But he never actually said it was Cas.”

            “How the hell could you let someone you care about do shit like that?  No way, Mish!  I would knock you over the head, tie you up and throw you in the trunk before I ever agreed to let you do something that stupid!”

            “Ooo, tell me more!”

            “I’m serious!  Demon Dean needs his ass kicked!”

            “Unless, of course, Cas actually is an angel,” Jared said.  “Because if that’s the case, then it’s Dean and Sam taking all the risk, flying the jet and and jumping the bike while he just flies around.”  He frowned, seeing the looks he was getting from the other two.  He raised his hands in surrender.  “Just saying!”

            The roar of the motorcycle got their attention.  Sam was back, heading for the single ramp.  Overhead, Dean was coming around, but at a significantly lower speed, engaging the hovering engines.  Cas was seated on the wing, casually riding as if he hadn’t a care in the world and sitting on the wing of a moving aircraft was no big deal.  The jet was coming up behind Sam.  Dean was right behind him as Sam went off the ramp, flying out into the open air with absolutely nothing but empty field to land in. But the ramp beneath the big black jet was already down.  Dean boosted the engines a bit and scooped up the flying motorcycle.  The ramp immediately started retracting as he came back around and settled to a gentle landing in the field.  Then Cas was standing on the wing, knocking on the canopy. It opened, revealing both Dean in the pilot’s seat and Sam behind him.  Apparently, there was a way to get between the cargo hold and the passenger seat. Now all three were out on the wing, clasped hands in the air and then dropping down in a victory bow.

            Misha was on his feet, clapping so hard his hands hurt and whistling.  Then he sat down, shaking his head as the three performers climbed down from the jet.  “Hi, I’m Cas,” he grumbled.  “I jump off of the back of leaping motorcycles and wing walk on flying jets. Then I jump off without a parachute because I’ve got massive balls and no sense of self-preservation.  What do you do for a living Misha?  Oh, you spit out lines in front of a television camera and wear make-up to pretend it’s dangerous and you got hurt!”

            Jensen pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Misha, would you please just relax?”

            Misha was way too excited to relax.  He was rocking on his bleacher, tapping his foot as he waited impatiently for the crowd to clear out.  “I cannot wait to meet these guys!  We have got to get them work on the show.”

            “You do realize that so far nothing we have seen here today explains that picture, right?” Jensen reminded.

            “Unless...”  Jared shook his head.  “Nope, won’t say it.”

            “Dammit, Jared!”

            “Just spit it out!”

            Jared threw his hands into the air and rolled his eyes.  “Fine! Unless Cas actually is an angel! Uh uh, don’t look at me that way. I wasn’t going to say it, but you assholes insisted!”


	4. Sam and Dean

            The ticket seller/refreshment stand worker/announcer explained that this was his last day.  He’d only been hired to perform his various jobs while the show was camped here.  Now he was supposed to clean up, and then he was done.  The trio would find another temporary worker at their next venue.  He didn’t know anything else.  They left him to his tasks and headed out to the field, where Dean was busy working with his jet.

            “Sorry, no autographs!” the pilot called, not looking back.

            Jared had outpaced the others and quickly removed his disguise.  “Hi!  I’m Jared Padalecki.  You invited us to come to your show and talk about that picture of Misha?”

            Dean looked back, taking in the sight of the three.  “Huh!  I wasn’t sure you’d come, Collins, and I certainly didn’t expect you to bring J2 with you!”  He extended a hand towards Jared.  “I’m Dean Winchester.”

            Jared shook, smiling the same patient smile that Misha could see on Jensen’s face and feel on his own.  “I take it you know Jensen Ackles, and you’ve talked to Misha.”

            “Pleasure!  And you can put away the professional soulless grins.  I know you probably get a lot of people making weird claims.” Dean closed the cover of whatever he’d been tinkering with.  Then he indicated the jet.  “How do you like my Baby?  Lots better than an Impala, huh?”

            “I’m sure they both have their good and bad points,” Misha said quickly, seeing Jensen bristle.  “You said you were going to tell us about that picture?”

            “Yup!  Let’s go into the trailer.”  He cupped his hands around his mouth.  “Sam! We got company!  Get done, would you?”

            The figure in red gave a thumbs-up sign, still intent on his motorcycle.

            “Let me guess!”  Jared tapped on his chin, as if he were thinking.  “That would be your brother, Sam Winchester?”

            “That’s Sam Winchester, but Sammy ain’t my brother.  Should I even bother, guys?  You three just gonna have a good laugh at our expense and go on your way?”

            Jensen elbowed Jared.  “Sorry. We’re really interested in how you did that photo op.”

            “Your show was incredible, by the way,” Misha tried.

            Dean lit up.  “You liked it?”

            “It was amazing!”  Jared had come alive with excitement once more, practically dancing from foot to foot. “Where’d you learn to fly?”

            “Air Force,” Dean announced proudly.  “I was a combat pilot.  I can tell you anything you want to know about building, flying, and maintaining this jet.  Baby’s a custom build!”

            “She is pretty nice,” Jensen allowed.

            “Isn’t she, though?”  The pilot lovingly ran a hand along the gleaming black surface, fortunately missing the look the three actors were trading among each other at the familiar gesture.

            “So this is what you do, you travel from place to place and put on a show?”

            “That’s part of it.”  Dean started walking, indicating that his three visitors should follow him.  “I’m a test pilot, working for the military.  I put new planes through their paces, make sure they’re safe and do what the engineers think they can.  I also test anti-aircraft systems, see if I can fly through radar and that sort of thing to help find weaknesses in the defense systems. The pay’s pretty decent and keeps us in jet fuel.  Sammy does some motocross and we’ll travel wherever that might be, and Cas has his own thing he does on the side for extra cash.  But mostly we follow my schedule and do shows along the way or near the military bases I’m working out of.  We travel all through the US and Canada, wherever I’ve got work.”

            “That’s when you’re not coming to Supernatural conventions?” Misha asked.

            “I don’t go to Supernatural conventions.  That one was the first one I’ve ever been to.  I only went the one day to get that picture with you, and I have no intention of ever going again.”

            “No, you’ve been to others,” Misha insisted.  “I know you have.  I didn’t recognize you at first, but the more I see you, the more I know that I’ve seen you before.”

            “I didn’t say you haven’t seen me before.  I’m fully aware that you recognize me, Misha.  I knew you’d figure it out eventually.  I just said I don’t go to Supernatural conventions.”

            “Then where have we met before?  Yes, I recognize you, but I honestly can’t place you.  You’re a pilot, right?  Have we flown somewhere before?”

            “Yup.”

            “Where?”

            Dean only hummed.  They’d reached the RV.  Dean strolled in, clearly expecting them to follow him.  Misha hesitated, looking at his friends, who drew closer to him.

            “So you know this guy, Mish?” Jared asked in a low voice.  For once, the tall man was serious.

            “He’s familiar.  I know I’ve seen him before, and it wasn’t just in passing.  I know him from somewhere, something to do with him flying planes.  But I don’t think he’s a commercial or private pilot.  Dean’s an adrenaline junkie.  That’s just too tame for him.”

            Jensen frowned.  “He had to have been a pilot on something you traveled on, Misha.  You don’t have anything else to do with planes!”

            “I know, and that’s why it’s so weird!  I have this mental picture of him sitting in a cockpit of a fighter jet.  It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell you where, but...”  He shook his head, frustrated.

            “Can we trust him?” Jensen asked.

            Misha considered the question.  “Yeah,” he said at last, “at least enough that I don’t think he’ll pull a gun on us if we go into this trailer with him.”

            “You three get lost out there?” Dean called from within the trailer.

            “Sorry!”  Misha quickly went inside.  He noticed that Jensen stayed close behind him, with Jared right in the rear.  Both of his friends seemed suspicious.

            The inside of the RV was cramped, especially for Jared.  Even Jensen was a bit uncomfortable as the three actors sat where Dean indicated on a tiny built-in seat.  They barely managed to fit.  Dean was digging through the fridge.  He produced a six pack of beer and started handing out bottles.

            “So Dean,” Jared began, “you’re a test pilot, Sam does motocross, but you didn’t mention what Cas does?”

            “He’s a dancer.”  Dean was scowling as he expertly flipped the lid off of his beer, sending it neatly into a nearby trash can.  “As you might imagine, I would much prefer he changes careers.”

            “You said he’s a dancer, ballet?”

            “Exotic.”

            “Oh.”  Jared suddenly went still, fascinated by his beer.

            “Yeah, ‘oh’ is right!  We argue more about his dancing than anything else.  And you’ll have to excuse my mood right now, because that’s where he’s heading as we speak.  I wanted him to stay and meet you, but that’s not going to happen.  His current boss was so eager to get Cas back up on his stage that he was waiting to pick him up before the crowd even left!  He was probably in his car whacking off during our show, the perverted son of a bitch!”

            Misha frowned.  “Is Cas in some sort of trouble?”

            Dean snorted.  “He can handle himself.  Cas will do the occasional private show, but he doesn’t do sex or full nudity, just dancing. If those sickos ever tried anything, Cas would kick their asses, and if they really got persistent, he’d flat-out smite ‘em.”

            “Smite them?”

            “Yes, Ackles, he’d smite them!  Cas is an angel.  He can do that.”  Dean sat on the counter, still scowling.  “It’s not that I’m worried about him.  Cas can handle himself, so it’s not like he’s in any danger.  I just hate the idea of other people drooling over my angel and shoving money into his g-string, you know?  He argues that he can make more in a single night than the three of us make in a show with a lot less risk, and of course he’s right.  But I hate that he degrades himself like that!”  Dean moodily drank his beer, seemingly oblivious to the looks his guests were exchanging.  “Thing is, we’re low on cash.  I would rather go out and do whatever odd jobs I could find, and I fully intend to do exactly that between engagements.  But Cas can bring home a grand easy just from one night.  He’s good, he’s got some great moves, and he’s smoking hot.  Perverts come from far and wide to shove money at him.  That place will be packed tonight.  And all I can do is sit here and resent it!”  He shook his head.  “Where the hell is Sam?  Samantha!” he suddenly bellowed towards the open door.  “Get in here!”

            Jensen elbowed Jared.  “Samantha, huh?”

            “Yeah, Samantha!  Oh, there you are.  Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet my sister, Sam Winchester.”

            “Pleasure.”  Sam was a striking woman with dark hair cut in a pixie, clear blue eyes, and pale skin. She had an oval face with fairly delicate features.  She was still wearing the red leather outfit she’d worn in the show, although she’d removed her helmet and opened up the jacket to reveal a red halter top over small breasts and a flat stomach.  Up close, she looked small and rather fragile.  If Misha hadn’t known she’d just been ramping a motorcycle, he never would have believed it.  Sam bore little resemblance to her brother, other than her mood didn’t seem much better than his.  She was scowling as she accepted a bottle.  “Dean, we need to talk to Cas again,” she announced.  “That pervert he just went with tonight tried way too hard to get me to come along with them.  I was ready to deck the son of a bitch!  If Cas hadn’t threatened to cancel his show to make him leave, there might have been some trouble!”

            Dean’s face flushed, and Misha thought it might be best to change the subject. “You obviously have things to discuss, so we won’t take up much more of your time.  I was hoping we could discuss that picture?”

            He succeeded in altering the mood in the trailer.  “I need to apologize for my brother,” Sam said.  “I told him not to do be so mysterious, but once Dean gets an idea in his head, he’s impossible.”

            Dean scoffed.  “Aw come on, Sammy!  I wish I could have seen the look on Collins’s face when he saw those wings!”

            “There are better things to look at here.”  She was openly admiring their three guests as she drank her beer.  Sam Winchester was anything but shy.  That elevated her in Misha’s eyes.  He liked strong, confident women, but he wasn’t the one who’d most drawn her attention.  Her eyes had locked on Jared.  Misha saw Jared eyeing her back and found it difficult to keep a straight face.

            “How did you do it?” Jensen asked, apparently oblivious.  “Because we seriously want you to show your process to our effects guys!”

            Dean sighed and shook his head.  “You guys know Sherlock Holmes?”

            “Not personally?”

            “Ok, wiseass!  You know who he is, right?  Sherlock had this saying that he used when he was solving cases.  He used to say that once you eliminate the impossible, then whatever is left, no matter how improbable, is the answer.  Now before you say angels are impossible, I’m going to remind you that millions of people all over the world have claimed to have seen them.  So go out on a limb here, just for a moment.  Collins, did I touch you, put anything on your back?”

            “No?”

            “Ok, what about the camera?  Did I do anything to the camera?”

            “No,” Misha admitted.  “I was looking right at you, and you didn’t touch me or the camera.”

            “Ok. So now that we have eliminated those two options, what, exactly is left?  Anyone?  No? Alright, here’s a hint.  If the wings weren’t a camera trick, then what showed up in that picture had to have been in present in the shot.  We already established that I didn’t touch you or put anything on your back.  So what’s that leave?”

            “Bells,” Misha recalled.

            Dean and Sam suddenly stilled.  “Excuse me?”

            “Bells,” Misha repeated.  “I heard little bells, like jingle bells.”

            Brother and sister exchanged a look.  Then both looked hard at Misha.  “Misha, do you remember me?” Sam asked.

            “I don’t, but I do.  The motorcycle, I’ve seen you riding one before.  You’re both so familiar!  Were you on the set at some point?”

            Once again, they exchanged a look.  “You have to take him to meet Cas,” Sam insisted.

            “Can we just get back to this picture?” Jensen called.  “What do bells have to do with the picture?”

            Dean smiled.  “Most people can’t hear them.  It’s Cas. He was invisible when he moved behind you, Collins.  Then he opened his wings and let them show up on the camera, and afterwards he just walked away.”

            Misha frowned.  “I did hear the bells again after the picture.  That was all Cas?”

            “Yes sir!”

            Jensen got up.  “Misha? Jared?  Can we step outside for a minute and talk?”

            Fortunately, their hosts didn’t protest.  Jensen’s shoulders were hunched the way they were when he was upset. Misha already knew what was coming before he even opened his mouth.  “Misha, these guys are professional con artists.  They travel from town to town, putting on their show.  Do you really think this Dean guy is a test pilot for the military?  Come on!”

            “I could see Sam doing motocross,” Jared said.  “But that bit about Cas being an exotic dancer doesn’t make any sense. There’s only one strip joint in this town, and it’s the traditional kind.  They don’t hire male dancers!”

            “I’m not going to ask how you know that, Jared,” Misha sighed.

            “Bottom line, this is a con,” Jensen insisted.  “I say we get in the car, go back to the hotel, and relax for the rest of the day before we have to go home tomorrow.”  He stared at Misha.  “What?”

            “I know them,” Misha mumbled.  “I know I do! I don’t know from where, but it’s something to do with what they do.  I’ve seen Dean flying a fighter jet, and I’ve seen Sam on a motorcycle.  And those bells?  There’s something about those bells, and it’s to do with dancing.  I know it!”  He shook his head.  “I want to meet Cas.”

            “You are out of your mind.”

            Jensen was shaking his head.  “Misha, there is no way I am going to be seen anywhere near a place with male exotic dancers! Are you insane?”

            That hurt more than it should.  Jensen was refusing to meet Misha’s eyes, staring hard at the ground.

            “I can take him.”

            The three looked up and saw Sam standing in the doorway, finishing her beer. “It’s not far.  I can ride you out there on my bike.  You can borrow Dean’s helmet.  Just don’t ask me to go in.  I’ll wait outside for you to come out, assuming you don’t drown in sleeze.”

            Jared cleared his throat.  “Misha going into a Chippendale’s might turn out not so good.  He’s kind of, well...”

            “He’s pretty and famous and the girls and guys who would patron a place like that would be all over him.  But don’t worry about Misha.  He’ll be fine at this place.”  She drained the last of her beer, tossed it back inside, and stepped down.  “We going or not?”

            “He’s not.”  Jared looked at Misha.  “I’ll go with you.  Sam, no offense to you or your brother, but I’m not leaving him alone!”

            “Fair enough.”  Her eyes moved to Jensen.  “What about you?  I can only take one on my bike, so if they’re both going to the strip club, they’ll need your car.  I can take you back to your hotel?”

            Jensen was chewing on his lower lip so hard he was in danger of drawing blood. But he nodded.  “Thanks, I’ll accept that.  You guys let me know what’s going on, ok?  Text me every half an hour.  I don’t get a text, I’m calling the cops.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the "real" characters are actually in this fiction and that's why they are listed but trust me it is a mind fuck keep reading and you'll see


	5. Castiel

            Dean’s directions led Jared to a location just outside of the town.  Flashing lights announced “LIVE EXOTIC DANCERS” in giant neon letters alongside of proportionately inaccurate silhouettes of females in dancing poses. The fact that the establishment also featured male dancers was advertised nowhere outside, but Castiel’s name was predominately featured on a sign along with the announcement PERFORMING TONIGHT!  The sign also announced a $30 cover charge.  That was interesting.  Apparently, Cas was a big draw.  Misha just hoped that the customers inside weren’t fans of the show from the convention.

            As he climbed out of the car and paid, Misha wondered how it was that dancers like Cas got his customers?  Other than his name, there was no indication that tonight’s performance was anything out of the ordinary.  So how had he become so popular?  Word of mouth?  Well, this was a fairly rural area.  If they advertised male dancers, especially if their clientele was also proportionately male, they would perhaps make targets out of themselves for homophobes. Misha imagined a business like this one generally kept a low profile.  It was well on the outskirts of town, after all.  Or maybe it was just so neighbors wouldn’t complain about the noise. Loud music, whistles and cheers were shaking the windows and assaulting their ears when Misha and Jared stepped inside. The two had to stand close together and shout in order to be heard when they approached the bartender.  “We’re here to talk to Castiel?” Misha yelled. “Dean sent us.”

            “That crazy son of a bitch better not be outside!”

            “No, he just gave us directions out here and said to talk to you.”

            “Good!  Last time Castiel performed, Dean came out here, got in a fight with a customer and the cops showed up.”  He frowned, narrowing his eyes at Misha.  “I know your face.  Wait, you’re Castiel from that show, aren’t you?  Ha! Here to see the real thing?”

            “You could say that,” Misha said.

            The bartender scrutinized Jared and grinned.  “And you brought Sam Winchester with you!  I gotta say, the real thing’s a hell of a lot better looking than you are, buddy!  Also, your disguises suck.”  The man drew two mugs of beer and set them on the table.  “On the house.  You guys already missed most of the show tonight anyway.  Go have a seat, and I’ll relay your message.  Cas will be out soon enough.”

            “Well, Misha, so far this is looking not so promising,” Jared grumbled as they took their seats.  “We’ve already been recognized, and I feel kind of dirty just being here!”

            “It’s not so bad, actually.”  Misha could appreciate a good show.  The performer on stage had music that sounded Middle Eastern.  He’d never imagined hearing anything like it at a strip club.  The dancer was a lovely exotic-looking woman who appeared to be of either Indian or Mediterranean descent.  Her long black hair was caught in a series of golden rings.  She wore a long gauzy white skirt and white top, and copious amounts of gold jewelry.  She was also quite good.  She danced in a manner that was reminiscent of a harem performer or belly dancer, shaking her hips and stretching a pair of long muscular legs as she worked the stage. The crowd seemed to appreciate it greatly.  They were on their feet, pressed against the stage waving what looked to be primarily large denomination bills.

            “Ok, that is kind of entertaining,” Jared admitted. “Certainly not what you’d expect from a dive like this!”

            Misha only hummed in reply.  His eyes were fixed on the dancer, but something very strange was happening.  Somehow, in spite of how loud the music still was, he was again hearing the delicate sound of small jingling bells.  All other sound seemed to fade, the music and Jared’s voice moving further and further away as the world darkened.  He was surrounded by heat and sweat and the odor of too many bodies in one place. Flickering torchlight provided illumination.  A single flute-like instrument provided music, accompanied by clapping hands.  And the bells, the bells rang out with every step.

            “Mish?  Mish! Where’d you go, buddy?”

            Jared was here, standing over him, shaking his shoulders.  Misha blinked up at him.  “Huh?”

            “You kind of went out on me for a bit there, Misha! You were just sitting there like you were frozen, and your eyes were a million miles away.  I called you three times and you didn’t answer!  I was about ready to call 911!”

            “I’m sorry.  I’m alright.  I don’t know what happened.”  He glanced up at the stage.  The dancer had lost most of her outfit.  A delicate golden chain created a harness that showcased her exposed breasts, while another chain draped just above her belly button, resting on her hips. Golden tassels on her G-string shook with her hips, coming dangerously close to shaking loose the bills tucked into it.

            “Dude, do not go out on me again!”

            “I’m not.  I’m alright, really.  Just, those bells!  They kind of sent me somewhere for some reason.”

            “What bells?”

            “The ones she’s wearing on stage.”

            “Misha, you’re freaking me out something fierce right now.  Would you look at her?  There is very little left to the imagination on stage right now, and she is not wearing bells!”

            Misha blinked.  Sure enough, the dancer had apparently finished her set and was walking off the stage, gathering her outfit as she went.  There was a lot of skin on display, especially from the rear.  But nowhere among her jewelry were there any bells.

            Jared was pulling on his arm, trying to get him up. “Alright, experiment over!  You are going to a hospital.”

            “Dammit, Jared, I’m alright!  Let’s just talk to Cas and go on our way, and if anything else happens, I’ll let you take me to a hospital.  Deal?”

            Jared gave him a look, but raised his hands. “You space out again, I’m dragging you out of here.  If that means I literally drag you, so be it.”

            “Deal.”  Misha blinked, seeing the dancer who had just been on stage walking towards them, ignoring the attempts of multiple patrons to get her attention.  Fortunately, she was much more clothed, covered with a robe. She was also smiling.

            “Good evening,” the dancer called.  “I understand you were looking for me?”

            “Uuuuuh, there must be some mistake,” Jared said. “We’re looking for a male dancer, Castiel?”

            “You’ve found him,” the dancer insisted.  “I’m Castiel, an angel of the Lord.  Would you like to come back to my dressing room to talk? I believe it would make it much easier to hear.”

            “Oh!  Of course, I’m so sorry,” Jared said, flustered.  “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

            Cas smiled.  Then he raised his hands.  “Please follow me.”

            Misha followed after him, feeling stupid. Judging by Jared’s flushed cheeks, he felt equally bad.  But Cas didn’t seem to mind.  Considering his profession, Misha suspected he encountered situations like this all the time.  But it still didn’t make it better.  “I really am very sorry,” Misha apologized.  “I made an assumption I shouldn’t have made.”

            “It’s alright.”  Cas brought them to what was apparently a private dressing room and indicated a couple of chairs inside.  “My vessel is biologically female, after all.  It’s natural for humans to see a female body and assume that the person inside is female as well.  Thank you for understanding.”

            “Of course.”  Jared had given Misha a sharp glance at Cas’s choice of wording.  Misha nodded that he’d caught it and turned back to Cas.

            There was now considerably more of Cas on display. He’d dropped the robe and was moving across the dressing room wearing nothing but his G-string and jewelry to gather a set of clothes hanging on one wall.  “As an angel, I don’t actually have a gender, of course.  But I do usually consider myself male, regardless of the vessel I choose.  I find it interesting, though.”  He turned, looking hard between the two actors.  “Neither of you has any issue with my gender, despite what you see before you.  And yet neither of you has even considered accepting that I’m actually an angel!”

            “Well, that’s kind of why we’re here,” Jared said. He didn’t seem to know where to look, and had apparently settled for staring at his clasped hands.  “Cas, Dean told us that you put your wings in that picture at Misha’s photo op.”

            “I did.”

            “But I’d looked,” Misha said.  “There was no one behind me.”  Misha kept his eyes on Cas’s face.  It didn’t make much sense for him to look away, considering that they’d just watched Cas perform on stage.

            Cas was breathtakingly beautiful.  Along with a body that seemed made for exotic dancing, he had an oval, narrow face with high cheekbones and a narrow jaw.  His dark eyes fixed on Misha as his head cocked to one side.  “You know that isn’t true.  Dean cares little for what I do.  You wouldn’t have been brought out here to see me like this unless you heard something, something I’ll admit I did not anticipate you would hear.”

            Jared raised a hand to silence Misha as he opened his mouth.  “And what was it Misha heard?”

            “Bells.  Silver bells.”  Cas was holding his clothing in his hands, but had yet to put any on.  His eyes were still fixed on Misha.  “You have heard those bells before.  You have seen me before.”

            “I... You’re very familiar,” Misha agreed weakly.  “All three of you are, but I just can’t recall where it is I’ve seen you. Can you enlighten me?”

            “No.  You’re asking the wrong question.”

            “Look, Cas, no offense, but I’m kind of over the games here,” Jared said.  “Why is it that every time Misha asks one of you three where he’s seen you before, he gets a non-answer?”

            “Because he’s asking the wrong question,” Cas insisted. He hadn’t looked away from Misha, seeming intent on staring him down.  “Which one of you drove here?”

            “Jared did.”

            “And who will drive back?”

            “Jared.”

            “And when you are in a car with Jensen Ackles, who drives then?”

            “Jensen.”

            “And when the three of you are together?”

            “Jensen or Jared.  Listen, Cas, I actually love puzzles, but in this case I agree with Jared. Is there a point you’re trying to make?”

            “The point is right before your eyes, but you’re not seeing it!”  He came closer, still locking eyes with Misha.  Misha found himself unable to look away.  “You are capable of driving, correct?  You do drive your own vehicle?”

            “Of course I do!”

            “Then why is it that you never, ever drive if Jared or Jensen is in the car with you?”

            “Because he’s a bad driver, that’s why!” Jared exclaimed.

            “No, that isn’t it.  There’s another reason he never drives with you.  Isn’t there, Dmitri?”

            Misha startled.  His real name was no secret, but very few people called him that, knowing he preferred Misha.  He opened his mouth, about to correct him.  But Cas reached out a hand and touched his cheek, and suddenly everything went dark.

            “Dmitri?”

            “Dmitri, can you hear me?”

            “Mr. Krushnic, can you open your eyes for us, please?”

            Flashing lights.  A roll of thunder, the sound of rain.  Something cold and wet splashing against his side, something warm and wet running down his face.  Misha blinked open his eyes and saw a bright light.

            “This one’s responding.  What about the other one?”

            “Not so good.”

            What was happening?  His head was throbbing, his body ached.  Misha squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

            “Misha?  Mr. Collins, can you hear me?  You’re in an ambulance, on your way to the hospital.  I need you to open your eyes.”


	6. Jensen

            Misha groaned and blinked open his eyes.  Everything was at an odd angle, like he was viewing it from below.  A woman was standing over him, shining a light into his eyes.  “Follow the light with your eyes, please?”

            Misha obeyed.  “What happened?”

            “According to your friend, you suddenly froze up, then fell over and lost consciousness.  He said it’s the second time tonight you’ve had symptoms.  Do you have any history of seizures?”

            “Seizures?  No, I have no history.  I had a seizure?”

            “Possibly.  No, don’t try to sit up.  You’re in an ambulance.  We couldn’t rouse you, so we’re taking you to the hospital.”

            Misha tried to sit up anyway, but couldn’t.  He looked down, seeing the straps across his body. “Why am I strapped down?”

            “That’s standard.  We’re in the back of a moving ambulance, Mr. Collins, and you weren’t conscious when we loaded you in.  The straps are to keep you from falling.”

            “Oh.”  Misha didn’t care at all for the fact he was strapped onto the gurney, but the paramedic’s explanation made sense.  One of his arms was caught under the straps, the other had something attached to it. He brought that hand up, looked at the IV dripping into his vein.  “Where’s Jared?”

            “Following behind us.  He wanted us to let you know he called your wife, but couldn’t reach your friend Jensen.”

            “Oh.”  That was upsetting.  Misha couldn’t imagine a reason that Jensen wouldn’t respond to Jared’s call.  He stiffened, remembering that Jensen had gone alone with Sam on her motorcycle back to his hotel.  “Where is Jensen?  Did he make it back to the hotel?”

            “I’m sorry, Mr. Collins, but I don’t know anything about your friend.  Try to relax. We’re almost to the hospital.”

            Try to relax.  Right.  He could hear the beeping of the monitor in time with his racing heart.  What had happened to Jensen?  Motorcycles were dangerous as it was, and Sam Winchester was a stunt driver.  What if they’d crashed?  Jensen was a celebrity.  He’d been so worried about the possibility of violence, the use of a gun.  What if he and Jared had been sent to meet Cas as a distraction, just a means of separating one of them from the other two? Had Sam and Dean abducted Jensen? Was Jensen hurt?  What happened?  Where was he?

            “Mr. Collins, your heartrate and blood pressure are really erratic right now.  I need you to try to calm down.”

            “I need my phone!  Let me up!”  Misha was straining against the straps, trying to reach his pocket.

            “Mr. Collins, please!  We’re almost to the hospital, and your friend can tell you whatever you need to know or call whoever you need to call.  But you need to understand, if you did have a seizure, this sort of stress could potentially trigger another.  Please, just try to relax and calm down!”

            Relax and calm down.  He had no idea where Jensen was or what had happened to him, but having a seizure wouldn’t help.  Misha forced himself to take deep breaths, forced his body to grow still and relaxed. Stay calm.  Get through whatever this was.  Then he could help Jensen.  Jared was following his ambulance.  Jared would know what had happened to Jensen.  Everything would be alright.

            Everything would be alright.

            Ambulance gurneys did not make for a smooth ride. The initial jolt when the wheels snapped down on the ground made his teeth click together.  Then it was a bouncy ride into the ER.  He looked frantically around for Jared, but didn’t see him.  He was surrounded by people.  They unstrapped him from the gurney, slid him over onto a bed, took his vitals and asked him questions.  Misha tried to be patient.

            “State your name and birthday?”

            “August 20, 1974.  Dmitri Tippens Krushnic.  I go by Misha Collins.”

            “Yeah, I thought I recognized you!  You’re the angel on that one show about the demons, right?”

            “Something like that, yeah.”  Misha strained to see around the people.  “A friend followed me, tall guy, shaggy hair?  His name’s Jared Padalecki.  He plays Sam Winchester on the show, have you seen him?”

            “If he’s out there, we’ll bring him in once we’re finished with you.  Address?”

            Misha answered questions with as much patience as he could summon.  These people were only doing their jobs, trying to help him.  They couldn’t know how much he wanted to leap out of his bed, scream for Jared and demand to find out what had happened to Jensen.  The machines monitoring his heart couldn’t see that it was breaking.

            Finally, they finished with him, and suddenly Jared was there, holding his hand.  Even then, Misha forced himself to wait, to hold his questions until the room emptied. Bad enough he’d asked about Jensen in the ambulance.  But as soon as they were alone, Misha turned pleading eyes to his friend.

            “Jen couldn’t contact us or answer my calls because he’s on a plane, heading back to Texas,” Jared told him.  “With Danneel.”

            Misha’s heart sank.  “What happened?”

            “I got the details from one of the desk clerks at the hotel,” Jared began.  “She’s a fan of ours.  Apparently, Danneel didn’t like the fact Jensen was staying another day.  Probably thought he was having an affair out here and stayed another day to hook up with his mistress.  So she booked a flight and came out without telling him.  By the time she got to the hotel today, we were already out for the air show.”

            “Oh shit,” Misha groaned.  “And then Jensen came back hours later on the back of a motorcycle driven by an attractive woman!”

            Jared nodded.  He couldn’t seem to meet Misha’s eyes, staring instead at the hand he was still holding.  “I guess it got pretty bad.  She was waiting in the lobby for him to come back, saw him ride up with Sam, and lost her shit.  The clerk said she went charging out of the hotel as soon as they pulled off their helmets and went after Sam.  Sam didn’t appreciate it.  Apparently, she knocked Danneel on her ass, settled her down pretty quick.  The clerk says Danneel actually apologized.”

            “That does not sound like Danneel.”  Misha saw Jared wince and realized how tightly he was gripping the taller man’s hand.  He quickly loosened his grip.  Then he leaned forward, asking the question most on his mind.  “Jared, did she hit him?  Did she hit Jensen again?”

            “Pretty much as soon as Sam was out of sight, right in front of the desk clerks and anyone who happened to be in the lobby.” Jared’s jaw was working now.  “The clerk said she dove on top of Jensen, knocked him down and punched him three or four times before they dragged her off of him and threatened to call the cops.”

            “Did they call the cops?”  Please say yes.

            “No.  Jensen just apologized to everyone, checked out, and went with her.  The going theory is they went straight to the airport.  If they caught a flight right away, they could be just about back to Texas by now.”  And now Jared met Misha’s eyes.  “The clerk said Jensen’s face was already starting to bruise up when he checked out.”

            Back to Texas.  Jensen was heading back to his home, where he’d be trapped in a fake marriage with a woman who had now hit him hard enough to leave bruises on at least three occasions.  “This time there’s video from the hotel lobby, and witnesses who saw her hit him! Jensen can’t blow it off or say it was an accident when there were witnesses!”

            “Witnesses who saw a lover’s spat.  Danneel thought he was having an affair...”

            “She still doesn’t get to beat him!”

            “I agree with you, Misha, you know I do! You think I didn’t have the same talk with him that you did that second time he showed up with bruises?  I talked to him the first time, too, asked him if things were alright at home, and he swore up and down it was an accident. The second time, he tried to say it was just a wrestling match over his phone that got out of hand.”

            “That’s what he told me, too, that she freaked out and wanted to look through his phone to prove he was cheating on her, then lost her shit when he wouldn’t give it up and tried to tear it out of his hands. He actually said that it was his fault, that she let go suddenly and he smacked himself in the face because he was still pulling on it!”  Even now, the memory of Jensen’s black eye and how Jensen had tried to laugh the incident off was making him shake with fury.  “But this time there’s witnesses who saw her beating on him, and video!  He can use that to have her charged and...”

            “And he won’t.”  Jared’s voice was low and bitter.  “You know he won’t.  He won’t charge her this time for the same reason he didn’t charge her the last two times. Because he needs that marriage.  Because she’ll fight him for custody of their kids and a lion’s share of everything he owns.  Because he can’t come out, not if he wants to keep working after the show’s over. And because Jensen won’t fight back for anything except his kids.  He’ll give her anything she asks for so long as he can see his kids, and she’ll use that! She’ll ruin him, Misha!”

            “That doesn’t mean he has to stay with a woman who beats him!  What if she hits the kids?”

            “If she ever laid a hand on those kids, Jensen would end her.  She’s a good mother, you know that.  The only one she puts her hands on is him.  We only saw bruises on his face those few times, but we’ve got no idea about what he might have hidden, or if she hit him and didn’t leave a mark.”

            “I’ve seen marks on him,” Misha recalled. “When we’ve been together.  He always said he got them doing stunts on the show or something else.  I had my suspicions then, but now I’m sure.  She’s beating him, Jared!”

            “And all he can do is try to block.  If he ever fought back, well, he’s a lot bigger than she is.  It would go real bad for him if she ran to the cops and filed charges.”

            “Dammit, Jared, we have got to get him away from her!” Misha hissed.  “If he needs a straight marriage, I know people.  I can get him some help!”

            “That’s got to be his choice.  I’ll talk to him, you know I will.  And I know you will, too.  Between the two of us, he’ll never lack for an ally or a place to stay!  But the only one who can really help Jensen get out of this is Jensen.  Until he does?”  Jared spread his hands and shrugged helplessly.

            Misha wanted to scream.  He wanted to rant and rave and throw things, then somehow teleport to Texas, grab Jensen, throw him over his shoulder like one of the monsters they faced in Supernatural and spirit him off to someplace where they could be together and no one could ever hurt either one of them.  His face was bruised.  Jensen’s beautiful face had bruises on it.  Misha tightened his hands into fists in the sheets.

            “Mish?”  Jared’s voice was soft, his hand on Misha’s shoulder comforting.  “You can’t help Jensen if you’re in the hospital, ok? I’ll do what I can for him, but honestly, you are the one I’m most worried about right now.  Misha, you just froze up, like you did before, and then your eyes rolled back and you fell over!  I had to keep with you and make sure you were still breathing while Cas called 911.”  He snorted. “For an angel, he didn’t seem all that anxious to heal you.  But he did give us his number.  They’re moving to a new town tomorrow, and he asked that we let them know you’re alright. I’ll text it to you.”

            “I really wanted to finish that conversation,” Misha grumbled.  “I’ll call him from the hotel.  I still have Dean’s number, too.”

            “Those three are fine.  Jensen’s, well, he’s not fine, but he’s as fine as we can get him for now.  So that makes Misha Collins our number one priority.  You have to take care of yourself.”

            “Dammit, Jared!”

            “You know I’m right.”

            “Of course I know you’re right.  That’s why I’d like to punch you.”  He reached up, clasped Jared’s hand, and smiled at his friend. “What the hell would I do without you?”

            “Your life would be very boring.”

            The next few hours were very boring even with Jared there.  Worn out from the stress of worrying about his two closest friends, Jared had nodded off in his chair with his head tilted back and his mouth open, snoring loudly. The hospital staff was very kind. They were careful not to disturb Jared when they came to take Misha for tests, leaving a note on the table in case he woke.  But when Misha was wheeled back in, Jared hadn’t moved.  Good.  Jared was such a good friend.  He deserved his rest.

            Fortunately, his tests indicated he didn’t have a seizure. The doctors didn’t seem to know what had caused his odd attacks.  They recommended he stay overnight in the hospital for observation, avoid any strenuous activity or extensive travel.  Apparently, they had no idea what he did for a living.  In two days they started shooting again, which meant long hours on a set clear up in Vancouver, filming fight scenes and other physically intensive work.  So be it. Misha poked Jared awake when they came to take him to his room, ordered his friend back to his hotel.  He didn’t have to tell Jared to keep him posted about Jensen.  Jared would know to do that.

            The hospital agreed to be discreet, and apparently the strip club would do the same.  Misha couldn’t care less about his reputation, but Jared’s was a different story. Everyone agreed to keep things quiet. He hoped they would.

            Misha was lucky enough to get a hospital room to himself.  The bed was hard and uncomfortable.  There were lights, noises in the hallway.  He was sure he’d never sleep.

            He drifted off to sleep almost immediately.

            The next thing he knew, he was awakened to the soft sound of bells.  A hand was on his chest.  When he opened his eyes, Cas was standing next to his bed, looking down at him.  He wore a long blue dress, with his long black hair loose and flowing over his shoulders.  One slender, manicured hand rested on Misha’s chest.  Misha reached up and took it.  “What did you do to me?” he asked quietly.  “That wasn’t a seizure.  It was you.  You touched me, and I saw something.”

            Cas smiled.  “You’re starting to remember.”

            “Remember what?”  Misha squeezed the hand.  “I know you. I know all three of you.  But you’re not Dean and Sam Winchester and Castiel!”

            “I am Castiel.  I’m an angel of the Lord.”

            “No, that is not true!”

            “But it is.”  Cas’s other hand reached up, stroked Misha’s cheek just as he’d done before. Misha shuddered.  “You saw something back in my dressing room,” Cas was saying.  “What was it?”

            “I’m not sure.”  Misha frowned, trying hard to concentrate.  “I think it was some sort of accident?  It was storming, raining, and people were all around me.  I was hurt.  But I think someone else was hurt more.  Was that you?”

            “Oh, Dmitri,” Cas sighed as he smiled down at him. “You have hurt me more than anyone else I knew in life!”

            “How?  What did I do?”

            “You won’t believe.  You’re not ready to believe me yet.  You can’t let yourself believe.  You can’t let yourself ask the right questions.”

            “I don’t understand.”

            “Dmitri, you want to believe that you are a good man. You’ve worked hard to help others. But you never stop to ask yourself why you feel such a need to help.  What you have done, to me, to Dean, to Sam, and to so many others? You’re not yet ready to face it. The depth of your shame is too great.” The hand on his cheek was moving, Cas’s fingertips tracing down Misha’s chin, rubbing over the stubble and down his throat to the top of his sternum.  “But I’m not the one that worries you most.  Even now, your mind lingers on another.”

            He was leaning over Misha now, both hands sliding up and over to take Misha’s shoulders and press down, pinning him firmly to the bed.  Misha stiffened in alarm.  Cas was a stranger.  How had he gotten into Misha’s hospital room?  His heart pounded, the first feelings of fear starting to rise as Cas lowered his head to whisper in Misha’s ear.  “The picture was our way to get your attention, to make you start to think. And you are thinking now, aren’t you, Dmitri?”

            “Yes.”  Misha licked his lips.  “What is it that you want from me?”

            “I want you to remember.”  His breath warmed the side of Misha’s head.  “You forgot something, Dmitri.  Something important.”

            “What did I forget?”

            “I can’t tell you.  That’s not how this works.  You need to remember on your own.  But to remember that one thing, you must remember it all.  Even the parts that fill you with shame.”  His lips brushed Misha’s ear as he spoke, loose locks of his dark hair tickling Misha’s nose, making him want to sneeze.  Now Cas raised his head slightly, smiling down at Misha.

            Even before their lips met, Misha knew Cas was about to kiss him.  But he did nothing to stop it.  He let it happen, letting Cas hold him down and press his lips to his, letting him lick into Misha’s mouth, draw out his breath and then breathe it back into him. The whole time, Misha was simply lying there in his bed as if powerless while anyone at all could come walking by, see what was happening.  Then he suddenly gasped and turned his head away.  “Stop!  Get off of me!”

            Misha didn’t remember closing his eyes during the kiss, but he opened them quickly when he heard the sound of rustling feathers. He sat up with a gasp, looking wildly around his room.  It was empty. Down the hall, he could hear laughter as the nurses at their station shared some joke amongst themselves. There was no sign anyone had been in the room with him.

            Misha sighed and laid back down.  A dream.  Of course it was a dream.  Yeah, ok, he was attracted to Cas.  Cas, after all, had a beautiful body that he’d seen quite a bit of.  The dancer was sex on legs.  It was little wonder anyone would dream about him.  Misha’s heart belonged to Jensen and Jensen alone, but few would be able to resist Cas’s charms.  Misha licked his lips.  He could almost taste it, that lingering kiss.  He’d been frozen in place, letting this stranger do whatever he wished. What was it about Cas that he had such power over him?

            Misha shook his head.  Dean would kick his ass up and down the halls of this hospital if he ever knew Misha had been dreaming of making out with his boyfriend.  The dream had been oddly intense, but considering the amount of stress he was under, Misha thought it was little wonder his subconscious mind had sought an outlet.  At least Cas had been fully clothed in Misha’s dream.  The last thing he needed was to wake up with an erection in the hospital for some poor nurse to walk in and see, especially after he’d been carried out of a strip bar.

            He rubbed at his face, idly pulling away the strand of long hair caught in his stubble, and reached for his phone.  No messages.  Of course not.  It was five am here on the east coast, which meant it was even earlier in Texas. Jensen wouldn’t have dared turn on his phone when he’d landed.  He’d probably visited briefly with his children and then, given the time difference, gone straight to bed.  Right now, he’d still be sound asleep.  Hopefully he’d call or text once he woke up, anything to let Misha know he was alright.  He likely didn’t know yet about Misha’s little side trip to the hospital, despite his threat to call the police if he or Jared didn’t text him.  Getting beat up by your wife in a hotel lobby tended to be distracting, Misha supposed.

            Misha sighed again, irritably shaking his hand to dislodge the stubborn hair.  Then he froze.  He raised his hand so that it was silhouetted by the light from the doorway and stared in shock at the long black hair he’d pulled off of his face.


	7. Concealed

            Jensen didn’t call, or text.  He didn’t respond to Misha’s calls or texts.  Jared said he wouldn’t respond to him, either, and that he was heading over to Jensen’s home to check on him.  Then Jared had called back and said that the Ackles family wasn’t home.  No one knew where they’d gone.  Tomorrow, they all had to report to Vancouver and start shootiing. Jensen had to show up there.

            Misha shocked everyone by arriving an hour early, wanting to get some time with Jensen.  Jared arrived shortly after he did with the same idea.  Jensen showed up half an hour late wearing a hat with the rim pulled down, dark sunglasses, and a turtleneck despite how warm it was.  He apologized to the irritated directors and producers, and immediately headed to make-up. Misha didn’t have any scenes with him today.  Jared reported that he’d tried to talk to Jensen, ask where he’d been, but Jensen had dodged him, shutting himself in his trailer between takes and not speaking to anyone.  It was frustrating as hell.

            Misha and Jared waited until they were finished for the day.  They marched to Jensen’s trailer, where they pounded on the door non-stop until Jensen finally let them in.  “Guys, I’m sorry, but I really don’t have the time to do anything today,” he began when the two pushed their way into his trailer and shut the door.  “I need to...  Dammit, Jared!  Let go of me! Misha, come on!”

            Jared had caught Jensen’s arms and held their thrashing friend while Misha went to work on his face with a wet wipe, cleaning off the make-up.  Jensen finally sighed and held still, not meeting Misha’s eyes as the bruises on his face were revealed.  His jaw, his left cheek, and his left brow all bore dark marks.

            Jensen slumped in Jared’s grip.  “I’m fine, alright?  I covered it all up because I knew you guys would make it into a bigger deal than it is!  Now will you please let me go?”

            Jared let him go, stormed around to the front of him, and stared at his bruises.  “And what happened this time, Jen?  Did you run into a door?”

            “No, it was my fault, really.  We were...”

            “Stop,” Misha ordered.  “Just stop, Jen.  We know what happened, alright?  The hotel clerk saw everything.  So don’t try to give us this bullshit that it was your fault!  She hit you!  She fucking hit you again!  And this time there was video and witnesses.  You’re not going back there to her again.  We’re getting you out!”

            “Holy shit, it’s not like she beat the hell out of me!” Jensen yelled.  “She’s a woman this tall, and she flipped out because let’s face it, it didn’t look good, me riding in on the back of a motorcycle with a strange beautiful woman. She apologized, we all went out and spent some time together as a family, and it’s not going to happen again.”

            “You said that last time.  Didn’t he say that last time, Misha?”

            “He did say that last time.”  Misha was frowning, staring hard at Jensen.  He reached for the wet wipe again.

            “Oh, come on!”

            “Hold still, or I’ll have Jared hold you again.”

            “I’ll do it!”

            “Dammit, Jared!  Come on, Misha!”

            Misha paid no attention.  He’d noticed a difference in the skin tone of his friend when Jensen had turned his head.  Now he scrubbed at the skin on Jensen’s throat, and revealed more dark bruises.  He stared at them in shock.  “She choked you.  She actually choked you!”

            Jensen was shaking his head.  “It’s not how it looks!”

            “Jensen?  Did that fucking bitch choke you?!”

            “It was an accident!”

            “How the hell do you accidentally choke someone hard enough to leave bruises?!”

            “When you’re hanging off of his neck on his back, screaming and crying and begging him not to leave you!  Look, she wasn’t trying to hurt me, alright?  She didn’t realize she was choking me until I fell.”

            “She choked you until you passed out?!”

            “No, Misha, stop trying to put words in my mouth! She wasn’t trying to choke me.  We got back to the house and she’d sent the kids to her mom’s.  As soon as we were in the door, she started screaming at me that I was having an affair and was going to leave her.  So I told her I was walking out until she calmed down and started for the door. That was when she jumped on my back. She was trying to drag me back inside and all of her weight was on my throat.  Yeah, I was in a bit of trouble and everything was starting to go dark a little bit because yes, she was choking the hell out of me.  But all she was trying to do was keep me from leaving. I never passed out.  I fell backwards because she was pulling me back and her weight dragged me down and I tripped, alright?  So like I said, it was an accident, because she wasn’t trying to choke me!  Would you two please stop trying to make this worse than it is?”

            “She beat you in a hotel lobby,” Jared reminded. “There is very little I would not put past her at this point.  So I’m sorry, Jen.  I do not believe for one moment that she choked you by accident.  You said she was trying to drag you back, force you back inside?  Choking you would be the easiest way to do that!”

            “Look, I know we’ve had problems, but we’re getting better!”

            “What?!”  Jared sputtered.  “How the hell can you say you’re getting better when she just beat and choked you?!”

            “She hit me in a wild moment when she wasn’t herself.  And she didn’t realize she was choking me.”

            “She knew damned well her arms were around your neck,” Misha added.  “And she still pulled on your throat hard enough to leave bruises!  What the hell did she think she was doing?  Hugging you?!  Jensen, that was no accident!  She choked you on purpose!  And there is no excuse she can offer for hitting you.  This isn’t getting any better, alright?  She’s only getting worse, and the next time, she could really hurt you!”

            Jensen’s shoulders slumped.  “You two have never liked her.  But she's my whole world!  It’s not her fault I’m gay and I can’t really give her what she needs. She’s a sweet girl, a devoted mother, and she loves me!  That’s why she’s so afraid I’m going to leave her!”

            “You don’t beat someone you love, Jensen,” Misha said.  “You don’t try to control them by going through their phone records and their e-mails and flying out to their hotel because they stay an extra day.  That’s not love.  That’s a sign of a seriously unstable person, alright?  Jensen, she has beaten you several times, and now she choked you hard enough to leave bruises!  However that happened, she could have seriously injured you.  She could have killed you!”

            “Danneel’s promised me that she’s going for counseling,” Jensen said.  “She knows what she did isn’t acceptable.  And it won’t happen again.”

            “Come and live with us,” Jared urged.  “Just until she gets her head back on straight.”

            Jensen abruptly hugged him.  “Thanks, brother.  Thank you both.  But I’m alright.  Danneel needs me to stay, ok?”

            “Jensen, do you know where Misha was the day you left?” Jared said, stepping back.  “The hospital.  They carried him out of that strip club on a stretcher and took him to the hospital in an ambulance!”

            Jensen looked sharply at Misha.  Then suddenly Misha was in his arms.  “What happened?  Did they hurt you?  I’ll kill ‘em!  What did they do to you?!”

            “They didn’t do anything, I just passed out!”

            “Hey Jensen, the way you felt just then, when you thought someone had hurt Misha?” Jared called.  “That’s how we feel right now, looking at your bruises!  Now I’m going to ask you again.  Come and stay with me, just for a few days.  Give your bruises time to heal, talk to Danneel in a controlled environment and set some ground rules.  Make sure she really is getting help.  Because the next time she hurts you, I’m leaking it to the press.”

            Jensen stared at him.  “You wouldn’t dare!”

            “Try me!”

            “Fuck you, Jared!”

            “No, fuck you, Jensen!  I had to watch one of my best friends get carried out of a strip bar on a stretcher, and now I’m looking at bruises on my other best friend, and frankly, I’ve had enough!  If I can’t do anything to help either one of you, I’m going to lose it.  You know I will!”

            That was no idle threat.  Misha knew his friend struggled with depression.  The amount of stress he was under from him and Jensen could easily push him back into it.  “I’m fine,” Misha said quickly, pulling free from Jensen and taking Jared’s arm.  “And Jensen is going to stay with you, at least until he’s sure Danneel is getting some real help!  Aren’t you, Jensen?”

            “Alright.  If that’s what you need, brother.”  Jensen’s voice was soft, his eyes fixed on Jared.  “It was pretty bad this time.  She was hanging with all of her weight on my neck and I couldn’t get her off. When I felt myself starting to pass out, I really thought for a moment that she was going to...”  He shook his head.  “She didn’t mean to choke me, guys.  That really was an accident!  But you’re right.  She shouldn’t have hit me.  She needs help and maybe now?  Maybe now, she’ll get it.”

            There wasn’t much to say after that.  Misha nominated himself to call Danneel, as he didn’t trust Jared not to fly off the handle.  It was all he could do to speak calmly with this woman who had hurt Jensen, explain to her that they were concerned about Jensen after what had happened and what they’d seen.  As his friends, they couldn’t help but be concerned.  It was perhaps best for all concerned if Jensen stayed with Jared and his wife for a while, to give them both time to heal and for her to seek some professional help.  She didn’t like it.  Misha didn’t care.  He calmly explained that they had video of the incident and multiple witnesses who were willing to testify.  If necessary, he would personally see to it that legal action was taken.  Danneel would get therapy from a licensed, qualified counselor.  Jensen would not be returning home until she did.

            She agreed in the end.  She had no choice.  But she didn’t go down quietly.  “He stays with Jared, not you, Misha,” Danneel insisted over the phone. “I know you.  If he has some slut over, you’ll just look the other way!”

            Misha’s nails were digging themselves into the palm of his left hand, while his other hand calmly held the phone.  “He’s staying with Jared.  I’ll check in on a regular basis.  Just leave him alone for a while, Danneel.  He doesn’t want to press charges right now, but if one of those clerks talks to the press about what happened in the hotel, well, the last thing we need is a bunch of reporters dogging us.”

            “That would ruin my career!”

            Her career.  She’d beaten her husband, choked him hard enough to bruise his neck, and frightened his friends to the point where they were making this drastic step. And she was worried about her career. “Gen will be over to pick up some of his things.  We’ll let you tell the kids.”  Tell them what you did, why their daddy isn’t coming home.

            At least she was still a good mother.  “I’ll spend some extra time with them, let them know things are alright.  Jensen and I, we’ve been fighting a lot lately.”

            And how many of those fights have gotten physical? Just what have you done to your husband? “I’m sure Jen will be glad to hear that.”

            “Thank you for being his friend, Misha.  I know sometimes I go way over the top, but I love him, and I need him so much that it just drives me insane to think he’s with another woman!  But you’re right.  I crossed a line when I hit him that I never should have crossed.  I’ll get help, meds, whatever it takes to save our marriage. I’ll get you names, receipts, whatever you need to prove to Jensen I’m getting help.”

            “Good.”

            “Please take care of him for me, and tell him I love him.”

            “Sure I will.”  He had no intention of relaying that.  “Take care, Danneel.”  Get out, Danneel.  Move on, find someone else, and let Jensen go.

            They had an early call in the morning, so the cast and crew were bedding down at their usual hotel.  Misha had hoped Jensen would come to his room after supper. After pacing around for an hour, he realized it wouldn’t happen.  Fine. Misha headed out and knocked on Jensen’s door.

            “Sorry, Mish.  I really just want to be alone tonight.”

            “Open the door, Jensen.”

            “Come on, Misha!”

            “Jensen, open the door or I bust it down!”

            Jensen suddenly appeared at the door.  “Misha, seriously, I...”

            Misha pushed him inside, kicked the door shut, and was kissing him in an instant.  Jensen made a sound of protest and shoved at him.  Misha grabbed his wrists and kept pushing him back until they both fell on the bed.  Jensen was still struggling, trying to push him away, but it was clear his heart wasn’t in it.  His struggles were largely token, and meanwhile, he was kissing Misha as though he could never get enough.  But still, he was trying to push him away.  Annoying.  Misha tightened his grip on his friend’s wrists and Jensen cried out in pain.

            Misha immediately stopped, released one of Jensen’s wrists, and jerked down the sleeve of the other.  He stared at the bruise.  Then he checked Jensen’s other wrist and found an identical bruise there.

            “She pinned me down, after I fell,” Jensen sighed. “You know, after she ended up bruising my neck?  I didn’t fight her, just talked to her and tried to get her to calm down.  But she was flipping out and kept slamming my wrists against the floor.  Took a while before she finally calmed down and let me up.  Then we talked, and she was fine.”

            “What else?”

            “Huh?”

            “What else did she do to you?”

            “Nothing!”

            “I don’t believe you.”  Misha pulled off Jensen’s shirt and pointed accusingly at the bruises on Jensen’s ribs.  “What’s this?”

            Jensen looked.  “I didn’t know about those.  Must have been from when she had me pinned.  She was kind of bouncing on me a bit.  You gonna take off my pants now?”

            Misha was already doing just that, even pulling off Jensen’s socks.  But he didn’t find any more bruises.  He got up and paced around the room, rubbing his temples.  “No more,” he said.  “No more, Jen!  She never touches you again!”

            Jensen had already gotten up.  He moved behind Misha and slipped his arms around the older man, planting a kiss on Misha’s cheek.  “What happened to you in that strip club?”

            “I’m not sure.”  Misha knew Jensen was just changing the subject, but right now it was appreciated.  He relayed the story, even telling Jensen the odd things he’d seen and his dream, including the long black hair he’d found when he woke up.

            “That’s a bit weird,” Jensen admitted.  “But not really all that hard to explain.  You were in his dressing room, right?  Where he probably fixes his hair before his shows? And you were on the floor.  You probably picked up that hair then.”

            “You’re probably right.  Nothing about that whole thing makes any sense.  It’s just...”  He shook his head.  “They’re so familiar, all three of them!  I know them from somewhere.  If I could figure out where, I could put paid to this whole thing!”

            “I see.”  Jensen’s hands were moving, sliding up under Misha’s shirt to rub at his chest and stomach.  “You know what I don’t see?  Why I’m the only one naked here.  That doesn’t seem fair.”

            “Maybe we should remedy that.”

            “You do that, and I’ll lock the door.”

            Door locked, clothes off.  And then Misha could hold Jensen again, touch him everywhere, kiss and lick and caress him, handle him the way he should be handled. This lovely creature was meant to be loved and cherished.  Every time Misha saw one of his bruises his heart ached.  The fact that he had to let Jensen go, eventually send him back to the woman who had hurt him, made him feel sick inside.  But for now, Jensen belonged only to him.

            Misha was gentle as he handled his lover.  He tried to express how he felt through touch, through the depth of his kisses and the tender caress of his hands.  He kissed each bruise, held his lover close the way he knew Jensen loved to be held.  Even after he eased his way inside and Jensen was begging for more, harder, deeper, Misha was as gentle as he could be, using long, slow thrusts that had his lover writhing and cursing beneath him.  When they finished, Misha carefully cleaned them both.  Then he pulled Jensen back down onto the bed.

            Jensen squirmed.  “Don’t, Mish!  We can’t both fall asleep here.”

            “We can, and we will.  Because I am not letting you go tonight.  Not tonight.”

            He could feel Jensen’s anxiety, the quickening of his breath, the tensing of his muscles.  The memory of their close call was obviously very much on Jensen’s mind. But Misha refused to leave him now. And eventually, Jensen’s body relaxed into sleep.

            Misha held him in the darkness and wished the night would never end.  Wished he could just hold Jensen forever, keep him safe and warm.  He pressed his face into Jensen’s hair, breathing deeply. “I love you,” he whispered.

            “Love you, too,” came the sleepy reply.

            Misha’s heart stopped for a moment.  Jensen remained still, wrapped in Misha’s arms beneath the blankets, his chest still rising and falling in the slow steady rhythm of sleep. It didn’t mean anything.  Jensen had simply responded to the phrase from the depths of his slumber as he’d probably responded a hundred times.  Who knew who Jensen even thought he might be talking to.  But for now, Misha simply reveled in it.  He’d told him.  And Jensen had said he loved him in return.

            From somewhere, there was a jingling of bells. Then a voice whispered from somewhere close.  “You care very much for him.”

            Misha looked over, saw Castiel sitting in the chair in the corner.  The faint light coming from around the shaded window illuminated him.  He was wearing another long dress, his hair pulled back this time.  His dark eyes were fixed on the two in the bed.

            “I love him,” Misha whispered.

            “I too loved someone.  You took him from me.”

            “How?  When? What did I do to you?”

            Castiel was rising, coming towards the bed. “Shall I take your lover from you now, Dmitri?” he asked, stretching a hand towards Jensen.  “A love for a love!”

            “No, please!”

            “I will not.  He is innocent of what we have between us, as my own love was innocent.” He gently touched Jensen’s forehead. “A gift, from my love to yours.”

            A jingling of bells, the sound of rustling wings. And Misha was alone in the room with Jensen.

            His sleep was troubled the rest of the night. What had he done to these people, these strangers who were somehow so familiar?  But really, nothing about it made sense.

            In the morning, when he looked at Jensen’s face and saw no trace of the awful bruising, Misha’s world nearly collapsed.


	8. Touched By An Angel

            “Ok, so let’s just lay it all out,” Jared said as they sat together in his room having breakfast.  “Angels are real.”

            “Yeah.”

            “One of them currently inhabits the body of an exotic dancer, and by coincidence, that angel’s name is Castiel.”

            “Yeah.”

            “And Cas is dating a human man named Dean Winchester.”

            “I guess?”  Misha had been poking for some time at his eggs as he spoke.  “I mean, if everything else is true, then it stands to reason?”

            “None of it is true,” Jensen insisted weakly. “This, it’s not real.”

            “Jensen, yesterday Misha and I saw all your bruises. Today, you have none.  Something happened we cannot explain, and Misha just offered us an explanation!”

            “An impossible explanation!”

            “I keep thinking about what Dean said, the Sherlock Holmes thing?” Misha said.  “They never wavered from their story, that Castiel’s an angel.  And what I saw this morning?”

            “It was just a dream!  The room was locked, no one got in!”

            “Jensen, you stared in the mirror for at least ten minutes this morning!” Misha yelled.  “You can see that all the bruises are gone.  You got healed by an angel last night!  Just accept it!”

            “Alright!  I’m touched by an angel!  So why am I scared shitless?  Mish, Jared, you guys are missing the bigger picture here.  If Cas is really an angel, and it’s kind of looking that way right now, then what he said is scary as hell.  Because Cas has a serious bone to pick with you, Misha!  He said you cost him his lover?  Am I the only one that is terrified by the idea of a pissed off avenging angel just showing up in your locked hotel room trying to make you remember something?”

            “No, you’re not,” Jared said.  “I’m scared to death!  This thing is obviously out for revenge.  And frankly, I don’t see it ending well!  He said you hurt all three of them, right?  What if all three come after you?”

            “If they wanted to hurt me, they’ve had plenty of chances.”

            “No, because you don’t remember what you supposedly did!” Jensen yelled.  “These three are playing some sort of vigilante game with you, Misha, trying to make you remember something before they punish you for it.  And I’m scared!  I’m really fucking scared, alright?”

            They were all scared.  Jared was pale as he stared at his breakfast.  Misha was watching his own hand shake.  And Jensen was clinging to his arm like Misha would vanish if he let go.

            “The thing that most worries me?” Misha admitted. “Cas threatened Jensen.  He could have hurt him just as easily as healed him. And that’s why I want to call him.”

            “No way!”

            “Misha, you cannot possibly be seriously thinking about any further contact!”

            “My choices are that I reach out to them, find out what it is they want, and maybe face things on my own terms.  Or, Cas keeps showing up when I’m asleep.  Let’s face it, guys, the Enochian runes they use on the show aren’t real.  I can’t keep an angel out by laying salt in front of the door.  If Cas wants to get to me, there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop it.  And I won’t be afraid.”

            “You?  Are absolutely insane!”

            “I knew that the first time I saw him put raisins in his eggs!”

            “Raisins improve everything.”  Misha took a bite of his raisiny eggs to prove his point. “I’m right about this, too.  Now, I don’t want the two of you involved any further in this, but based on past experience and the looks on your faces, that’s not about to happen.  So, I say I just call right here and now.  The only question is, Dean or Cas?”

            “Dean,” Jared said.  “Cas is just too dangerous.”

            “I agree.  Call Dean.  At least the worst he can do is pull a gun on you.”

            Jared pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Jensen, you are seriously gun fixated lately.”

            “It won’t stop an angel, will it?”

            “That’s the thing!  If Dean wants to hurt Misha, he won’t need a gun.  All he has to do is call Cas!”

            “I’m calling him.”  Misha put down his fork and picked up his phone.

            “Um, shouldn’t you call from the hotel phone?”

            “Jensen, Cas has shown up in my room twice now, once in a hospital and once in a hotel.  Obviously, he can find me wherever I happen to be.  So I’m not too concerned that they’ll have my number at this point.”  He scrolled through his contacts, selected Dean, and made the call, turning on the speaker.

            Dean answered quickly.  “This is Dean.”

            “Dean?” Misha began.  “It’s Misha.  Let’s talk.”

            “You finally figured out how I did that picture?”

            “Yes.”

            “About damned time.  Alright, you want to come to us, or do you want us to come to you?”

            “I’m filming right now in Vancouver.”

            “Give me an address, and we’ll be there.”

            Misha gave him the address of the hotel.  “So we’ll see you in a couple of days?”

            “Count on it.  And Collins?  Don’t worry. Cas won’t hurt you or anyone else you care about.  So whoever you got on speaker there, J2 I imagine?  You can relax.  See ya.”

            “Dean, wait!”

            “Yeah?”

            “Cas kept saying I’m not asking the right questions. But so far, all I’ve asked is where I know you from and what it is I’ve done to you.  I hurt you too, didn’t I?”

            “Yeah, Collins.  You did.  You hurt all three of us, but Cas most of all.”

            Misha squeezed his eyes shut.  “‘What have I done to you’ isn’t the right question.  ‘How do I know you’ isn’t the right question. Alright.  How do you know me?”

            There was a long pause.  Misha was about to ask if Dean was still there when he began to speak again.  “You came to me, Mr. Collins, when I was in the military and convinced me to go AWOL to help you.  You told me that what you needed help with was more important than my current mission.”

            “Was it?”

            “I don’t know.  I guess so.  To be honest, I don’t remember much of it.  What I remember the most is being left high and dry with no options and no one to call.  Doesn’t matter.  It was a long time ago, and nothing can change it now.”

            “And Sam?  How does she know me?”

            “Same kind of story.  You went to her asking for help, she gave it, and you ditched her. Sam you left to the angels, you left me for McAlly, and before you ask, yes, you did the same sort of thing to Cas. Difference was, in Cas’s case, you ditched him at the worst possible time.  That mess wound up with a good man dead, with a lot of people dead, because you just took off and left Cas to pick up the pieces.  But that’s your pattern, Collins.  You come to people, hat in hand, asking for help.  You promise them whatever it is they need to hear in order to get them to help you because your mission is just soooo important!  Then as soon as you get what you want, you’re gone, never to be heard from again.  But that’s water under the bridge.  We’ve all moved on from it.  That’s why Cas didn’t hurt your boyfriend.  We’re not here because we hold a grudge.  What you did to us happened a long time ago.”

            “Then why reach out to me now?”  Misha glanced over and saw that Jared and Jensen had scrambled for pen and paper and were frantically scribbling.  “What is it you want from me, if not revenge?”

            “Reaching out to you was my idea.  I’ve been watching you, Collins.  I knew that if I didn’t do something to get your attention, you’d just keep going the way you are and more people would get hurt. Because you forgot something, and unless you remember it soon?  You’re going to do just what you always do, and leave the people who trusted you all alone to die!!”

            “Then why don’t you just tell me what it is?”

            “Because it’s not that easy!  Your life is not what it seems, alright?”  He sighed.  “Listen, we’ll come find you in a few days and we’ll talk.  Until then, will you do me one favor?”

            “What is it?”

            “Pay attention.  Take a good hard look around you.  It’s not right!  It hasn’t been right for some time now.  Figure that out, and the rest will come to you.”  Dean sighed wearily.  “Listen, I gotta go.  Talk to you in a few days.”

            “Dean, wait!  I...  Shit, he hung up.”  Misha moodily tossed his phone to the table.  Then he stared at his shaking hand.

            Jensen was still scribbling.  “You get that, Jared?”

            “Yeah.  It’s not much, but it’s a start.  We can check for Dean’s record.  If he really was in the military and he went AWOL, then there’d be a court martial or something, right?”

            “You check that, and I’ll look into this name. McAlley.  Not one I’ve heard before.”  Jensen tapped the paper with his pen.  “Mean anything to you, Mish?”

            “I’m not sure.”

            “The problem is that I don’t actually know where to start looking,” Jared confessed.  “I don’t really know how to do this kind of research other than Google! Every so often I wish I had some of the skills I use in the show, and this is one of those times.  Of course, even when I’m on set, those assholes in effects usually put porn on the screen I’m looking at when I’m supposed to be acting serious!”  He shook his head.  “I’ll have to make some calls.”

            “What about this bullshit about leaving Sam to the angels?” Jensen asked.  “Something’s way wrong with that one!  Until Cas showed up, we never even knew angels were real!  So how...?”

            Misha abruptly got up, shoving his chair so hard it fell with a bang that made the other two men jump.  “This doesn’t make any sense!” he yelled.  “I never made anyone in the military go AWOL, alright? I sure as hell didn’t run off and leave anyone to die!  And Jensen’s right, I never knew anything about angels!”  He held his head, pacing back and forth.  “I feel like I’m losing my mind!  I mean, I did some stupid shit when I was younger, the sort of things any kid does.  But I didn’t do what Dean’s accusing me of, ok?  I don’t just use people and then leave them like that!  That isn’t me!”

            Jensen suddenly had him in his arms.  “I know, Mish.  I know.  And we’ll get to the bottom of this, ok?”

            “Maybe Misha’s right?” Jared said.  “Maybe it really isn’t him?  What do we know about real angels?  Maybe this whole thing is just a case of mistaken identity!”  He brightened.  “Misha, even if you can’t remember anything, what about your family? Wouldn’t they know if you, for instance, had anything to do with the military?”

            Misha stared at him.  “Dammit, Jared!  Come up with brilliant ideas before I flip out, not after!”  He quickly kissed Jensen and then raced for his phone, where he called his brother and again put the speaker on.  “Sasha?”

            “Hey, Misha!  How’s Hollywood treating you?”

            “You know we’re in Vancouver?”

            “You know I don’t care?”

            “Yes, Sasha, yes I do.”  Talking to his brother put a smile on Misha’s face.  “Listen, I have kind of a weird question for you. Back in my wild youth, did I have anything to do with the military?”

            “You and the military?  Is that a joke?”

            “You may have answered my question.  You’re on speaker phone, by the way, say hello to Jared and Jensen.”

            “Hello Jared and Jensen!”

            “Hey, Sasha!”

            “What’s up, Sasha?  I figured your brother was always a peace-loving hippy!”

            “Oh no, actually the opposite was true when he was a kid.”

            All three froze.  “What do you mean?  I never wanted to be in the military!”

            “Misha, are you serious?  You used to march around with a pot on your head and a stick over your shoulder, pretending you were in formation!  You remember our one neighbor, Joe Travis?  He was in the wheelchair?  He used to tell you stories about Korea, and you hung on every word! That’s why we all got such a kick out of it when you got on that show, remember?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Because one of the main characters was named Dean Winchester!  We all thought that was amazing, because you always wanted to be him when you were a kid.”

            Misha’s legs no longer felt capable of supporting him. He collapsed into Jensen’s chair. “Dean Winchester?”

            “Holy shit, Misha, just how much weed are you smoking on set?  Dean Winchester, the pilot!  You made his Sabrejet out of a cardboard box!  Don’t you remember Black Beauty?  Joe said Dean always called it his baby!”

            Silence.  Misha forgot to breathe.  He was vaguely aware of the presence of Jared and Jensen.  But his world had darkened, narrowing down to the sound of his brother’s voice as he continued to speak.

            “Dean was Joe’s best friend.  Joe maintained the jets and said Dean was the best pilot he’d ever met.  But the real thing that stood out about him was that Dean knew as much about maintaining those jets as Joe!  He said that was pretty unusual, for a pilot to give two shits about maintenance. Most of them were fighter jockeys who flew their missions and went drinking.  But not Dean.  No one touched Dean’s baby but him or Joe.”

            “What happened to him?  Sasha, what happened to Dean?”

            “McAlley.”

            “Who’s McAlley?”

            “It’s not a who, it’s a what!  MiG Alley’s where a shitload of dogfights happened during the Korean war.  A lot of pilots didn’t come back.  Dean was one of ‘em.  Joe said he’d always believed that Dean would end up dying in his baby.  In the end, he was right.”

            “What about Sam?  Sam Winchester?”

            “The motorcycle queen mom had the pictures of, that she was friends with when she was young?  Misha, that was why Joe started telling us about Dean, because he saw mom’s pictures of Sam, and she was his kid sister!  Hoo boy, she was a looker!  Too bad her club got on the wrong side of the Hell’s Angels!  Why?”

            “She’s dead, too?”

            “As a doornail, brother.  Her whole club got gunned down, some kind of territory dispute. Misha, why are...?”

            “I’ll talk to you later, bro.”  Misha hung up.  Then he simply sat as he was, staring at his phone.

            “You want to bet Cas is dead, too?” Jared asked quietly.

            But Misha couldn’t answer.  There were simply no words.


	9. On Set

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I wrote this thinking I might get a few readers and it looks like I've got about 20 base on kudos because it seems like those are one per person. Considering that no one ever reads my stuff in real life, that's pretty cool! It's really awesome that some of you took the time to comment and say you're enjoying this! It really means a lot! So I got motivated and here's another chapter. Like I said, this story is a massive mind fuck so when it starts getting confusing, and it will, just hang on. It will all make sense in the end. Thank you so much you inspire me to keep writing!

            The next couple of days were a blur.  Misha threw himself into his work, either on set or working with Random Acts. They were helping to rebuild a children’s hospital damaged by fighting, and that was tricky.  The whole area was still a bit unstable, and while there was no more active fighting, there certainly was a distressing amount of corruption.  They’d lost a shipment of bandages.  Bandages! Corrupt border officials had taken an entire shipment of bandages of all types, from surgical to medicated wound treatments to plain old gauze.  Misha had already made arrangements to ensure the safe transport of medications.  But never in his dreams did he imagine that any extra care needed taken with bandages.  It was insane, and disheartening, and now the most innocent victims would suffer most from it.

            He’d been on his phone in the parking lot where hopefully no one would hear him swearing, texting back and forth to his legal department when he heard the sound of loud rock music playing over a powerful engine.  Looking up, he spotted a familiar red motorcycle, complete with a driver in red leather and a passenger in black.  He quickly sent a text to Jensen and Jared and got up, waving for the guards to let them through.

            Sam quickly parked, turning off the music.  Dean was already off the bike, pulling off his helmet as he approached Misha. The black leather chaps he was again wearing over his jeans made swishing sounds as he walked.  “Hey, Collins.”

            “Dean, Sam, welcome,” Misha called cautiously.

            Dean had replaced his helmet with a pair of aviator glasses.  “Relax, Collins.  We’re not here to cause trouble.  You invited us, remember?”

            “Of course.”  From the corner of his eye, Misha saw two familiar figures jogging out towards them and relaxed slightly, even as he frowned.  “Before my friends get here, I want to settle this between us.  If this is about revenge, then it’s between me and you, and we can...”

            “It’s not about revenge.  I told you, what happened between us is water under the bridge.”

            “Don’t think that means you’re forgiven, Collins,” Sam added.  She’d pulled off her helmet and had opened her jacket to reveal another bra-like halter top, this one white with “Blood Riders” written across the front in crimson ink.  “And judging by the way your face just went white when you looked at me, I take it you remember something about why?”

            “No! I know about the Blood Riders, about MiG Alley and Black Beauty, but only because we did some research.  But I don’t remember because I can’t.  It’s not possible!  You’ve got the wrong person.”

            “We don’t,” Dean said.  “But we’ll get to that.”  He’d opened his coat as well, revealing a plain white t-shirt.  A packet of cigarettes was resting in the breast pocket, and Dean took one now, placing it in his mouth.  “Jared, Jensen, nice to see you again,” he called as he lit it.

            Misha’s friends apparently saw no need for polite greetings.  “We looked you up,” Jared said.  “And we saw your pictures!  But nothing about any of this makes any sense.”

            “What’s your game?” Jensen asked suspiciously.  “You look up pictures of dead people and imitate them, and then spook celebrities until they pay you to go away?”

            Sam threw her head back and laughed.  It was not a pleasant sound.  “It’s a damned good thing you’re good-looking, Ackles, because no one is going to hire you for your brains.  Will my ride be safe here?”

            “It’ll be fine.”  Misha pointed towards the trailers.  “Come on. We’ve got some time until we’re due back on set.  Let’s go to my trailer and talk.  Dean, please finish your smoke before you come in?”

            “Sure thing, Collins.”  The unfinished cigarette hit the ground and was crushed under his heel.  “Not much chance of my dying of cancer, but you’re a different story, aren’t you?”

            Misha didn’t feel a need to respond to that.

            His trailer was cramped with five people inside, but he felt more comfortable there than exposed in the parking lot.  Sam and Dean made themselves at home, tossing their jackets on the backs of their chairs.  Sam was a bit distracting when she did that.  A large tattoo covered her back, featuring a motorcycle, a pistol, a red rose, and the words “Blood Riders.”  She also had a very shapely bottom that her red leather pants clung to nicely.  Misha’s train of thought derailed until Dean loudly cleared his throat.  Right.  He quickly produced a folder and opened it.  “We had some of our people do some research on you,” he began.  “Dean Winchester died trying to fly back in from enemy territory in northwest North Korea during the Korean War.  His plane went down near the point where the Yalu River meets the Yellow Sea, a place pilots referred to as MiG Alley.  This was in 1952.”  He pulled out some papers, including a black and white photo and some typewritten reports.  “I knew about him because of my neighbor, who was a mechanic on his plane.”

            “Joe.”  Dean tapped the picture.  “That’s him, looking up at me as I’m climbing into my Baby.”

            “I’ll admit that the pilot there does look a lot like you,” Jensen admitted.

            “That’s because it is me!”

            “If that’s you, then I finally understand why it is Joe tried so hard to make a little kid like me adore you,” Misha said.  He tapped one of the reports.  “Dean Winchester went AWOL while out on mission, vanished into enemy territory and was gone for over a week.  He was actually about to be listed as missing in action when he suddenly made contact, flying back over the river.  This is the transcript.”

            “I don’t need it.  I know what I said.  I was asking the date, how the hell I’d gotten so deep in, and reporting that I was low on fuel and was going to try to make it in.  But I didn’t.  Even if I’d had enough fuel to get back, by the time I was halfway over the river I had four commie MiGs on my ass and I knew it was over.” 

            “Joe idolized you,” Misha said.  “He talked about you all the time, told us you were a hero.  He never mentioned that the military decided you’d turned traitor, posthumously stripped you of your rank, and denied survivor’s benefits to your family.”

            “Joe knew me.  He knew I’d never turn on my brothers.  I can’t help what the brass thought about why I was in enemy territory.”  Dean tapped the picture of himself and Joe with his plane. “That’s the last time Joe saw me alive. I left a girl back home that I’d planned to marry when I got back.  But instead, I got shot down in that godforsaken country and I never came home.  And that’s on you, Collins.”

            “It can’t be on him!” Jensen said.  “Misha wasn’t even born in 1953!  And as for you, Sam?  Show him, Mish!”

            “Sam Winchester actually is the much younger sister of Dean Winchester,” Misha began, reaching for another folder.  “She was just a kid when her brother died.”

            “I still remembered him, though!”

            “That’s good to know, but unfortunately it didn’t stop you from getting yourself into trouble.”  He produced a picture and dropped it on the table.  It showed a group of men and women all in red with red motorcycles, all giving the finger to the camera.  “You joined up with a motorcycle club called the Blood Riders in 1960.  It was pretty unusual because, even though it was otherwise a fairly traditional motorcycle club, it had full patched members who were female.  Samantha Winchester was one of them.  The club was starting to make a name for itself, and not in a good way, when they made the mistake of moving into territory belonging to the Hell’s Angels. On November 3rd, 1961, the entire Blood Riders motorcycle club was found dead in their clubhouse, shot to death in what was apparently an ambush attack.  Sam Winchester’s body was identified among them.”

            “Your fault, Collins,” Sam growled.  “We weren’t trying to move into Angels territory!  The only reason anyone believed that was because you brought me out there on one of your do-gooder missions and then left me.  The Angels jumped to conclusions and came after me. I out-rode them and got out alive, but I was young and stupid, so I went back to our clubhouse.  I was there, trying to explain my unexplainable actions, when the Angels showed up in force and gunned us all down.  We barely got off half a dozen shots in return.”

            “And once again, that is before Misha was even born,” Jensen said.  “You two have the wrong guy!”

            “No we don’t.”

            “She never would have been in the Riders if my mom had my survivor’s benefits,” Dean said.  “Everything about what happened to Sam is on him!”

            “You’re out of your mind!” Jensen yelled.  “Even if Misha could have somehow been there before he was born, he never would have just left either of you like that!  He’s the kindest, most generous...!”

            “We couldn’t find anything on Castiel, but is it safe to say he’s got a similar story?” Jared asked, putting a hand on Jensen’s shoulder to try to calm his friend.

            “Oh hell no,” Dean said.  “Cas’s story is way worse, and it’s his to tell if he wants to.  But once again, we are not here for revenge.  This isn’t about what happened in the past.  It’s about what’s happening right now!”

            “What’s happening right now is that we’re apparently talking to a couple of dead siblings, in my trailer on the set of Supernatural!” Misha exclaimed. “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m having some difficulty wrapping my head around that.”

            “Yeah, well, I’m having trouble dealing with the fact that my baby sister joined a motorcycle gang!”

            “We were a motorcycle enthusiasts club.”

            “With guns!”

            “Really, Dean?”

            “You shot someone!”

            “You had three kills on your record before you went AWOL with Collins!”

            “I was in the military in an active warzone, Samantha!”

            “Yeah, well, we were at war, too.  Don’t roll your eyes at me, Dean!  You died, dad left, and mom ended up turning tricks to keep us fed, ok?  I could either join her or join the MC.  I picked the Blood Riders.”

            “Those were not your only options, not for you or for mom!”

            “What do you know?  You weren’t there!”

            “Do you think I wanted to die in Korea, Sam?!  Do you think I planned that?  I would have come home if it wasn’t for Collins and done whatever I had to do to take care of you and mom.”

            “But you didn’t did you?  Because you made the mistake of trusting Collins!”

            “So did you!  Stop being such a bitch!”

            “Shut up, you stupid jerk!”

            “Really?!” Jared yelled.  “You two are really going to do the bitch and jerk thing?!”

            Jensen pounded a fist on the table, making Misha jump.  “Dammit, Jared, there are bigger issues here!  You two said you’re not here for revenge, but you sure are tearing into Misha, aren’t you?”

            “We’re not...  Oh.” Sam went quiet, catching a glimpse of Misha’s face.

            Misha had sunk into a chair and was shaking violently.  “I didn’t do it,” he said.  “I didn’t do any of it!  I never knew either of you.  You both died before I was born!”

            “Funny,” Dean called.  “Because one of the first things you said to me was that you knew me from somewhere. So pick one, Collins.”

            “Enough!”  Jensen’s hackles were visibly up now.  “You two are here because we invited you to talk, and because you said you’re not out for revenge.  So the next time either one of you accuses Misha of anything, I’m tossing you both out!”

            “You can try it, big boy?” Sam offered.  Misha saw an ominously-shaped bulge in her jacket pocket and froze. He’d just let an armed motorcycle thug who had apparently already shot someone into his trailer.

            “Sam!”  Dean held a warning hand towards his sister, his eyes locked with Jensen’s.  “You’re right.  We’re not here for revenge.  But Collins forgot something that’s way more important than what he did to us.  That’s why we’re here.”

            “Your life doesn’t make sense, Collins,” Sam said.  “We’re only the most current examples of that.  But we’re not the only ones.  We’re not even the most glaringly obvious ones!  There are contradictions all around you, things that you see every single day.  Things that should be but aren’t, things that shouldn’t be but are.  You couldn’t have been alive when Dean and I died.  But you were.  You remember us.  You knew us, at the end of our lives.  You were there.”

            “That’s not possible!”

            “And yet here we stand!” Dean announced, spreading his arms.  “Dead for over half a century, and we’re standing in your trailer on the lot of Supernatural!”

            “How is that possible?” Jared asked.  “Cas?”

            Dean seemed to consider the question, looking at his sister.  “Well, yes and no.”

            “Cas is the reason we’re here, but he didn’t bring us back,” Sam corrected. She pointed at Misha.  “He did.”

            “That isn’t possible!”

            “You know Misha’s not really an angel, right?”

            “No, she’s right,” Misha called weakly.  “I brought them back.  I brought them all back.”  Misha was acutely aware of the stares he was getting from Jared and Jensen.  But Sam and Dean were smiling at him now.  “I was asking the wrong questions, because all of my questions were about you.  The one I really need to be asking questions about is me.  Because this doesn’t make sense!  Two dead people with the names of the characters my best friends play on our show cannot be standing in my trailer.  And when you eliminate the impossible, whatever is left is the truth. It’s not possible for the two of you to be here.  So the truth is, you’re not!”

            Misha looked up, seeing the inside of his trailer.  He was alone.  Jared and Jensen were gone.  No envelopes or papers littered the top of his table.  Misha got up and looked out the window at the parking lot.  No blood red motorcycle was waiting there.  There was no sign at all of any unusual visitors.

            The knock on his door made him jump.  “Five minutes, Misha!  Do me a favor and get there on time for once?  I got a date tonight!”

            “Be right out!”  Misha quickly went out to the set.  Spotting his friends, he jogged over.  “Hey guys, I got a weird question for you.  Did the three of us go to see an airshow, some stunt performers set up in a farmer’s field?”

            Jared and Jensen looked at him blankly.  “Um, no?” Jared said.  “Why would we do that?”

            Misha smiled.  “No reason. Just a random thought.”

            Jensen exchanged a knowing look with Jared.  “You’re a weird guy, Mish.”

            “It’s what makes me so loveable.  Now get to work!”

            Misha moved to his chair to empty his pockets.  His gaze lingered on his cell phone.  Quickly, he got into his contacts.  No listing for either a Dean Winchester or a Castiel.  Of course not.  He’d been working way too hard.  Clearly, it was time for some therapy, maybe some interesting medication. But at least now his head was back on straight.  Smiling, he went into his e-mail, and stopped smiling when he saw the e-mail with the attached JPEG from Creation.  Misha opened it and stared in mute fascination at the image of himself with the perfect glowing angel wings rising from his back.

            “Wow, that is amazing!”

            Misha looked up quickly, nearly dropping his phone, and saw Jensen peering over his shoulder.  The younger man indicated the picture.  “How’d you do that one?”

            “I’m not really sure,” Misha said weakly.  “It’s a photo op shot from the last convention.”

            “That’s incredible.  You gotta get that to our effects guys!”

            “Heh, yeah, I suppose I do.”  He grimaced. “You just put something on my back, didn’t you, Jensen?”

            Jensen’s eyes were wide and innocent.  “I’m hurt you’d even consider such a thing!  Come on, let’s go, and don’t forget your lines this time!”

            Misha sighed and pulled the sign off of his back.  “Male Prostitute For Hire, Inquire Within.”  Very mature, Jensen.  Misha stashed the sign, fully intending to hang it on Jared’s trailer.  Then he turned his attention back to the impossible picture.  “You’re not real.  Castiel is a character in a television show.  None of this is real.  It doesn’t make sense, so I cannot possibly have this picture!”

            The picture remained.  Troubled, Misha switched off the phone, tossed it onto his chair, and headed out to the set.


	10. Lessons Unlearned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are on Twitter please tell Misha Collins happy birthday!
> 
> I deeply respect and admire this man so naturally I will be terrible to him in this chapter because I am a terrible person

            “He cannot go with her!”

            “Misha, I worry about Jensen too, but you can’t just forbid him to spend time with his wife, ok?  He always says she’s his whole world, and that’s true.  Now I know the two of you...”

            “Dammit, Jared, this has nothing to do with me!  She’s beating him!”

            Jared sighed.  “I talked to him when he showed up bruised, too.  He said they were wrestling over his phone, she let go suddenly, and he ended up smacking himself in the face.”

            “I heard the same story.  I said it was bullshit then and I still do!”

            “I don’t really believe that’s what happened either, but the sad fact of the matter is that’s the last time we know of that she laid a hand on him, and it was months ago!”

            “No, that’s not...!”  Misha picked up a chair and hurled it in frustration.  What could he do?  Danneel had never attacked Jensen at the hotel.  There weren’t any witnesses or video of the attack.  Jensen hadn’t finally agreed to move out for a bit and stay with Jared.  In all likelihood, Danneel hadn’t agreed to therapy, either.  All of the good that had come out of Jensen being beaten at the hotel had been completely undone.  Now Jensen would be alone with Danneel all weekend in an isolated cabin. According to the gossip on the set, the two were already arguing when they left.  And Jensen wouldn’t fight back.  He never fought back.  No matter how much she hurt him, Jensen would do nothing to stop her.  “Where are they staying?  What if we just stopped by, just to check on them?”

            “Um, I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jared warned.  “You don’t just drop in on a couple in a private cabin, Misha.  Besides, I have no idea where they’re going.  Just a cabin somewhere alone.”

            It was like a door slamming shut, or the final nail in the lid of a coffin. Misha returned to his hotel room, feeling sick.  Somewhere out there, the man he loved was trapped alone in a cabin with a woman who beat him.  And only Misha could remember the bruised face, the marks on Jensen’s neck, the bruises on his wrists and his chest.  And this time, there wouldn’t be any hotel staff around to drag her off, make her stop hurting him.  But it hadn’t happened, right?  They hadn’t stayed an extra day to see the Heaven and Hell show, and Sam Winchester hadn’t driven Jensen back to the hotel to face his unstable, violent wife. Danneel had no reason to hurt Jensen.

            Danneel didn’t need a reason to hurt Jensen.  The last time she’d beaten her husband, it was over nonexistent pictures on Jensen’s phone.  And before that, it had been an innocent remark by a passing friend that had set her off.  Who knew what drove her to attack him?  What if she was hurting him right now?  Would Jensen walk out, call for help, and agree to stay with Jared until she got some help?

            He’d told Jensen he loved him.  And Jensen, asleep, had replied that he loved him back.  But that hadn’t happened, either.  Nothing that had happened following that impossible photo op had happened.  And yet, Misha still had that same photo on his phone.  That, and his memories, were all he had left of a timeline that had never been.  A timeline that he’d destroyed by simple logic.

            There was nothing logical about any of that.

            I’m losing my mind.

            Misha spent the day trying hard to study his new script revisions. He read them four times before admitting defeat.  He went for a jog.  He watched TV.  He tried to read.  He stared for hours at that damn picture as he paced around with his phone in his hand, willing it to ring, for Jensen to call and tell him he was alright, nothing bad had happened.

            It was four am on Sunday morning when Jensen finally called.

            “Misha?”

            Even over the bad connection, Misha’s stomach lurched at the pain in Jensen’s voice.  “Where are you?”

            Jensen told him.

            Misha broke any number of traffic laws to reach his friend.  Jensen was huddled in a bus stop, sitting on the bench with his head down and his hood up.  Misha ran to him, jerked off the hood.  His headlights showed him the damage.  It was worse, so much worse, than it had been before.  Jensen’s face was a mass of bruises.  Dried blood covered the side of his jaw from a split lip. One bloodshot green eye peered back out at him, the other was lost in a mass of swelling.  Misha cried out, pulled him to his feet, and he yelped in pain. Misha pulled up the sweater and Jensen’s shirt, staring in horror at the bruising that covered his ribs, back, and abdomen.  “What the hell did she hit you with?!”

            “Her shoe.”  Jensen coughed, wincing.  “She had those cork sandals with the elevated heels, the ones I gave her for her birthday? We were arguing, and she threw them at me.  Then she grabbed one and started hitting me with it.  She just...  She wouldn’t stop.”

            “Jensen, you have got to get away from her!”

            “I tried!”  Jensen obviously thought he meant during the beating.  “I told her I was leaving until she calmed down, and I tried heading out the door.  But she jumped on my back.”

            No. No, no no.  Misha examined Jensen’s neck, already knowing what he’d find. “She fucking choked you!”

            “She didn’t mean to!”  Same story. She was on his back, trying to keep him from leaving.  She didn’t know she was choking him.  But this time, the ending had changed.  “When I fell and she realized I’d passed out, she panicked.”

            “You passed out?!”

            He nodded, and indicated his lip.  “That’s how this happened.  I fell, hit the table.”

            “Jensen, you could have been killed!  What happened?  Why are you out here all alone?  Did she throw you out?”

            He shook his head.  “I ran out.”

            Thank God.  “So you woke up, and ran out of the cabin?”

            Once again, he shook his head.

            “Then what happened?”

            He wouldn’t meet Misha’s eyes.  Misha grabbed his arm, ignoring the cry of pain this caused, and jerked up the sleeve. Bruises all over his arms, probably from Jensen trying to defend himself.  But there were other marks on Jensen’s wrists, narrow cuts in his skin that Misha didn’t understand.  “What’s this?”

            “She panicked when I passed out.  She thought sure I’d leave her for sure.  So she tried to keep me from going.”

            It finally clicked.  “She tied you to something?!”

            “The fireplace grate.  She used the belt from her dress, tied my hands to it.  I woke up, told her to let me go, and she flipped.  She started hitting me with her shoe again.  So I pulled until I got myself loose and ran. She chased me, so I hid.  I waited until she got in the car and went out looking for me, and saw she’d forgotten to lock the cabin.  So I went back in, got my wallet and keys and phone, threw on this hoodie, and just started walking the other way.  I walked until I got a signal and called you.”

            Misha gently turned him, checked his back, and stared at the bruises there. He’d never in his life felt such rage as he felt at this moment.  Then Jensen’s phone rang with a familiar ringtone.  She was calling him.  At four in the morning, Danneel Ackles was still looking for her husband. “Jensen?  Do you have the GPS on your phone turned off?”

            One look at his face told Misha he didn’t.  Misha grabbed his phone, quickly turned it off, and threw it.  Jensen swore as it vanished into the darkness. “I need that phone!  It’s got...”

            “It’s got nothing you can’t replace.  Get in the car.  We’re going to the police.”

            “No, Misha!  Look, I’m sorry I called you.  I should have known you’d get all bent out of shape...”

            “Bent out of shape?!”

            “This is between me and my wife, alright?  Just give me a ride back and the two of us will talk it out.”

            “She beat the everloving shit out of you!  Why the hell would you go back to her?”

            “She’s my whole world!”

            “She’s a monster, and she’s never touching you again!  You’re not going back to her, Jensen.  I’m calling the police.”

            “Don’t you dare!”

            “This is too much.  You have to file charges!”

            “No! Just take me back, alright?”

            “Not a chance!”

            “Fine, I’ll walk!  Thanks for nothing, Mish.  I’ll see you...  Ow! Quit it!”

            Misha had Jensen by the arm and was forcing him into the passenger seat of his car. “Not this time.  Jensen, you’re hurt.  If you won’t go to the police, you’re at least going to the hospital!” Which would hopefully call the police and report an obvious assault.

            Jensen shoved at him.  “Take your hands off of me!  Just leave me alone!”

            Misha paused.  Jensen was bigger, stronger than he was.  Even in the condition he was in, Misha probably wouldn’t be able to overpower him. That was the wrong way to approach this anyway.  Fine. Misha backed off, raising his hands. “Jensen, I can’t force you into this car.  But you know you’re hurt.  You need to see a doctor, and I swear to God in Heaven, if you do not let me take you to the hospital, I’m calling an ambulance.  And then I’m calling the press!”

            It had worked when Jared tried it in the timeline that never was.  It worked now.  Jensen’s fists clenched, but his head bowed. “I hate you.”

            “I know.”  Buckle the seatbelt, shut the door.  Now he’s shut in.  Hurry around, get in the driver’s seat.  The hospital is only twenty minutes away if you take the main road.  Go.  Get Jensen to the hospital, get him some help!

            Suddenly, Castiel’s face swam before his eyes.  “Why is it that you never, ever drive if Jared or Jensen is in the car with you?”

            Never mind that.  Ok, safety first, seatbelt on.  Dropped the keys, shit, hands are shaking.  Got them.  Key in the ignition.

            “I’m sorry.”  Jensen’s voice was barely a whisper.

            “Don’t be.  This isn’t your fault.”  Turn the key. Just turn it, start the car.  Get him to the hospital.  Turn the key.  Turn the key, Misha.

            “Why is it that you never, ever drive if Jared or Jensen is in the car with you?”

            Thunder rumbled in the distance.

            “This one’s responding.  What about the other one?”

            “Not so good.”

            Turn the key.  Drive Jensen to the hospital.  He needs you now.  This is not the time to space out.  Turn the key. Drive.  Drive.

            “Why is it that you never, ever drive if Jared or Jensen is in the car with you?”

            Flashing lights.  Rain, falling in a torrent, the sound of it on the roof nearly as loud as the thunder. “Mr. Krushnic, can you open your eyes for us, please?”

            “Misha?  Mish, you ok?”  Jensen’s voice, sounding worried.  “You’re starting to scare me, buddy, what’s going on?”

            After all he’d just been through, Jensen was worried about him.  Drive him to the hospital.  Just turn the key.  Turn the key.

            Why? Why didn’t he ever drive with them? He drove alone.  He drove with other friends.  But he never drove with Jared or Jensen.  It didn’t make sense.

            Red and blue lights flashing off of a silver badge.  A police officer.  Rain dripped from the brim of his hat.  “What have we got?”

            “Three victims.  We got one DOA, up front there.  Another’s already in the other bus, unresponsive, circling the drain.  This one’s responding, but maybe not much longer. We gotta get him out now.”

            “He got an ID?”

            “Dmitri Krushnic.  Mr. Krushnic, you’ve been in a very serious accident.  You’ve been badly injured.  We’re going to have to remove part of your vehicle and cut away the steering wheel to get you out.  It’s not going to feel good, but you need to try to hold as still as possible.”

            “Misha, what’s wrong?  Mish? Misha!  Shit, where’s your phone?”

            Bending metal, the jaws of life tearing through the ruin of the car. Pain, horrible pain.  He screamed.  Then it was over.  Pouring rain washed over his face as he was pulled from the mangled vehicle.  He blinked the water out of his eyes, looking ahead to where his headlights still illuminated the area in front of the car. A figure lay there, all alone, face down on the flooded ground.  A head of dark wet hair.  No movement. “No.  No!”

            “What happened?”

            “I don’t know, he just kind of slumped!”  Jensen’s voice, frantic.

            “I actually meant you.”

            “I, um, I was mugged.  I was out walking and got jumped.  He came to help me.  Listen, never mind about me, Misha’s still not answering, why isn’t he answering?”

            “You said he just went unresponsive?  Any jerking, twitching?”

            “It wasn’t a seizure.  He just kind of spaced out, and then his eyes rolled back and he slumped!  Please, you gotta help him!”

            “How about you come with him on the ambulance?”  The voice was friendly, pleasant.  “Maybe you can help answer some questions.”

            “Yes, of course.  Misha, I’m here!  I’m right here with you, Misha, please open your eyes!”

            “We’ve got your friend.  Since you’re in this ambulance anyway, how about I clean up your face a bit, take a look at that cut?”

            “I’m fine!  Misha? Come on, Misha!”

            A hand clutching his.

            “Misha?”  Vickie’s voice, when did Vickie get there?  “Misha, can you hear me?  You were in an accident.  They need to take you to surgery.”

            “Where’s Jensen?”

            “Misha!”  Jensen sounded so relieved.  “I’m right here, buddy.  Open your eyes, ok?”

            The hand grew tight on his.  Vickie was crying, why was she crying?  “He’s gone, Misha,” she sobbed.  “I’m so sorry, but Jensen died in the crash, and they called Jared’s family.  They don’t think he’ll make it.  Oh, Misha!”

            “No! Jensen!”

            “Misha, I’m right here!”

            “I’m so sorry, but he’s gone!”

            “Wake up!”  Jensen’s voice, but it was different.  There was an edge to it now, a hardness that Misha hadn’t heard in his friend’s.  “You gotta wake up!  Cas!  Wake up!”

            Of course.  Now it made sense.  “We’re on the set.”

            “No, Mish, you’re in an ambulance,” Jensen said.  “Open your eyes, ok?”

            “No, Misha, you’re in the hospital, and they’re here to take you to surgery,” Vickie said.  “Can you open your eyes?”

            “Come on, you son of a bitch, open your eyes!”

            He opened his eyes, saw a bright light.  He saw a face, green eyes looking down at him.  It blurred, becoming the face of his wife, but younger, filled with pain and worry.  It blurred again, and once more he was looking at green eyes, only one.  The other was hidden under an ice pack pressed to a battered face.  “Misha,” Jensen sighed.  “Oh, thank God!”


	11. Drown Your Sorrows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reader who left a comment on the last chapter probably echoed every other reader who made it this far. But I really do know where I'm going with this and exactly what just happened. I'm sorry for your headaches.

            Another CT, another EEG, more needles and tests with combinations of letters that made sense only to medical professionals.  How do you explain that they’d already done it all in a timeline that no longer existed because you’d nullified it?  Oh, and you’d also nullified a few people along with it, but that didn’t matter because they were already dead.

            Yeah, go ahead and run the tests.

            They’d pulled Jensen away, convinced him to get treatment for his own injuries.  Good. Even better, while they were wheeling him out for another test, Misha saw Jensen sitting in a chair being treated, speaking with a police officer taking notes.  Danneel wouldn’t get away with what she’d done.  Now Misha could help Jensen get a PFA, start divorce proceedings.  With the extent of his injuries, Misha couldn’t imagine any judge in the world denying Jensen custody.  They could argue visitation, but the important thing was that Jensen would be free from the woman who’d beaten him so badly that he was barely recognizable. She’d never hurt him again.

            Jared arrived and was waiting for Misha when he returned to his room in the ER.  The younger man looked rough.  Of course he did.  It was still in the wee hours of morning, after all.  Jared hadn’t shaved, no comb had touched his hair, and his t-shirt appeared to be on backwards.  He pounced as soon as he saw Misha.  “Misha! Holy shit, Misha, why the fuck didn’t you call me?”

            “I was busy at the time.  Sorry.”

            “What happened?  Are you hurt?  How long do they have to keep you in the hospital?  Does Vickie know?”

            “I passed out, no, they want to keep me for observation but I’m saying no, and I called her just before I called you.”

            “Wait, go back.  You’re saying no?”

            “They’re not keeping me.”

            “The hell they’re not!”

            “Dammit, Jared!”

            “You passed out?  Why did you pass out?”

            “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

            “Dammit, Misha!”

            “It was just stress, alright?  Seeing Jensen...  Where’s Jensen?  Have you seen him?”

            Jared nodded, glum.  “Yeah.  He looks like he got hit by a truck.”

            “He filed a police report?”

            “Yeah.”

            “And he got treatment?”

            “He has a cracked rib, tons of bruises, cuts, the rope burns on his wrists, and swelling pretty much everywhere.  To be honest, I almost threw up when I saw his face. I could barely recognize him!  But no fractures, no major damage.  They were worried about his throat swelling, but he’s ok there, at least.  Did he tell you he was choked out?”

            “Yeah.  He told me everything.”

            “Fucking bullshit!  How the hell can you do that to someone?  Anyway, they checked his throat and there’s no damage other than the superficial bruising.  He got lucky.”

            “Real lucky!  If he hadn’t been able to get himself untied, he might have been killed!” Misha shook his head.  “Well, at least now he’s safe.”

            “Yeah, I hope they catch the bastards soon!”

            Misha straightened.  “What do you mean?”

            “The sons of bitches who attacked him!  The problem is, Jensen said it was so dark and it happened so fast he didn’t see them.  But he’s so lucky he got away.  They were trying to kidnap him, Misha!  They grabbed him from behind, beat him, choked him out and tied his hands.  He must have been so terrified!  It’s just the grace of God he woke up, got loose, and got away!  I’ve never in my life been so grateful for incompetent kidnappers.  We came so close to losing him, Misha!  I couldn’t even imagine that!”

            Misha stared at him.  “Jared, what are you talking about?  No one tried to kidnap Jensen!  Danneel beat the shit out of him with her shoe!”

            Misha watched in dismay as the blood drained from Jared’s face.  “Danneel did that?  She did all that?!  But, I mean she...  Oh no!”

            Misha clutched at his friend’s arm.  “Where is he, Jared?  Where’s Jensen?”

            “He just left.  Considering the circumstances and the fact that Jensen’s not exactly fit to be in front of a camera right now, we’re getting a week off.  So Jensen went back to Texas.”  He swallowed.  “With Danneel.”

            There was nothing Misha could do.  If he spoke to the police and told them what had really happened, Jensen might get in trouble for filing a false report.  Even if that didn’t happen, he couldn’t tell them anything more than what Jensen had told him.  It was all hearsay.  If Jensen didn’t confirm it, they couldn’t make an arrest or file a single charge. Jensen was already gone, heading back to Texas with the woman who had beaten him with a shoe she’d received from him as a birthday gift.  And there was nothing Misha could do.

            Jared wanted to go back to Texas, head over to Jensen’s place, and “take care of things.”  Misha was able to talk him out of it with difficulty, and real reluctance. More than anything, he wanted to find Danneel and make her pay for what she’d done.  But realistically, taking the law into their own hands would result in him going to jail and might even make things worse for Jensen.  Once again, the only one who could help Jensen was Jensen.  Misha felt helpless.

            Jared decided to stay with him for a few days. He claimed he had nothing better to do. Misha knew his friend was looking after him and was grateful, but complained they had nothing to do.

            Jared responded that there was always something to do and took him clubbing.

            Misha had never really been one for the club scene. He’d called Vickie, asking her what she thought about it.  She thought it was a great idea.  She hadn’t planned on him coming home this soon anyway and had made plans.  The kids were at Misha’s sister’s and Vickie had a couple coming over she’d had her eyes on.  She was planning on a hot meal and a hotter threesome.  Misha should go, get plastered, enjoy himself and maybe find someone he could schtoop and get his mind off of things.  The doctor had said he’d likely passed out due to stress, the stress of seeing his best friend beaten by muggers.  A night on the town would be just what the doctor ordered.

            Despite it being a Monday night, the club was packed. Jared ordered drinks and kept them coming.  Before long, Misha was feeling pleasantly buzzed.  By the time Jared dragged him out onto the dance floor, he was starting to think that maybe this was a good idea after all.  Neither of them was lacking for willing dance partners. Misha was currently dancing with a cute redhead, while Jared had a hot brunette in a red dress pressed up against him. Jared loomed over most of the patrons. This club saw its share of celebrity guests, so neither of them cared about being recognized.  Security was tight and they could relax.  The club also had some private rooms for rent.  By the looks of things, Jared was headed for one of those rooms.  With luck, Misha might just find himself in a room of his own.

            The redhead seemed willing enough.  Already she had her arms draped around his neck and was nibbling at his ear, her soft body pressed up against him as they moved to the music.  Misha looked over at Jared and saw him wink.  Jared’s hand cupped the ass of the brunette.  She responded by squeezing him through the front of his pants and Jared’s grin grew wider.  Misha saw him lean down, carding his fingers through her short hair.  She had a pixie cut that made her look young, very young. She was legal, of course.  The club rarely got taken by fake IDs. Still, she looked familiar.  Blue eyes narrowed as she looked at Misha, but she smiled, nodding at whatever Jared was saying.  She licked at Jared’s ear.  Nice.  Misha always liked assertive women.  Apparently, Jared approved as well.  He rose, gave Misha a thumbs-up, and put his arm around her shoulders.  She slipped her own arm around his waist, letting him lead her away.  It looked like Jared was getting lucky tonight.

            The redhead blew into Misha’s ear, immediately getting his attention.  “Hey, angel baby, you want to go somewhere more private?”

            “You know I do.”

            Jared knew a guy at the club.  He’d already made arrangements for them both to have a room. By the time Misha was through the door, the redhead was already hanging from his neck, her legs wrapped around his hips and his face shoved in her cleavage.  She had nice cleavage.  A moment later, he was seeing a lot more of it as her dress hit the floor.

            She pulled off his clothes.  Now she was on her knees in front of him.  Her mouth was skilled.  Misha moaned, buried his fingers in her hair.  Red.  She was a stranger.  Nothing like a little strange to get your mind off of the fact that you were quite likely losing your sanity.  Because the more he thought about it, the more familiar the brunette who had gone with Jared seemed.

            Misha pulled on the hair, pushing her back onto the bed.  He slid up her dress and pulled her panties off.  He buried his face into the musky smell of her, his tongue probing deep. She appreciated his efforts.  Her knees bent, her feet crossing at the ankle to pull his head in tighter.  “Oh, yes, angel!”

            Yes indeed.  Misha got up, climbed on top of her, and fastened onto one nipple.  Large breasts, very nice.  The brunette had small breasts.  She was more athletic, trim and muscular.  The redhead was all curves and soft, creamy skin.  “That’s right, angel, momma’s gonna nurse you now.” Her hand moved, sliding a condom onto him.  “Give momma her medicine, angel!  Let me have that nice hard cock!”

            No need to ask twice.  He thrust forward, sank deep.  Her tight heat accepted him eagerly, her legs wrapping around his hips. “More, angel, give me more!”

            She was a talker.  Misha shut her up with a hard kiss.  She seemed to enjoy that, moaning and clutching at him.  Her nails scratched at his back.  He pumped into her, enjoying the soft body beneath him. Soft.  Not like the brunette.  She was likely soft in some ways, too, but mostly she’d been hard.  Hard, and tough.  Hard, tough, like someone who’d made a name for herself on the streets.  Someone strong.  Someone tough enough to join a gang, or perhaps even...

            Perhaps, even, a motorcycle club?

            Misha rolled off suddenly, making her squawk in surprise.  He stripped off the condom and dove for his clothes.  “Sorry,” he called, hopping as he pulled on his shoes.  “It’s not you, really, I...”

            Forget it.  Misha bolted out into the hall.  Which room? It had to be one of the ones next to his.  He could hear suggestive moans coming from both doors.  Fifty-fifty chance.  Misha tried the knob on the right.  Locked. Fine.  He moved back, lowered his shoulder, and slammed into the door.

            It flew open, revealing the two naked, sweaty figures tangled inside.  “Misha, what the fuck?!” Jared yelled.

            The brunette was on top of him, glaring back at Misha over her shoulder even as her hips kept up their steady rhythm.  The large Blood Riders tattoo on her back was clearly visible.  Sam Winchester, fucking Jared Padalecki.  No, Misha decided, he did not appreciate the humor of that.  Misha stormed forward, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled.  “Off!  Get off of him!”

            “Misha, what the hell is wrong with you?!”

            Sam didn’t respond.  She moved, going where Misha dragged her until he abruptly released her.  She stumbled a bit and then caught her balance.  “Sorry, boys,” she called.  “I don’t do threesomes.”

            Misha pointed towards the door.  “Get out!  GET OUT!”

            She sniffed.  Then she gathered up her dress, panties, and shoes and walked, still naked, into the hall.

            Jared was looking at him with murder in his eyes. “You had better have one hell of a good explanation, Misha, because that had to have been the best piece of ass I ever...!”

            “Dammit, Jared!  I cannot believe you were just fucking Sam Winchester!  Dean’s going to kill you if he finds out!”

            “Uh, what?”

            “Sam Winchester!”  Misha quickly told his friend the whole story.

            Jared listened, not saying a word.  He remained quiet for a time after Misha finally finished. Then he nodded.  “Alright.”  He got up, got dressed.  Then he took Misha by the arm and led him out of the club.

            Misha waited until they were both in the cab, heading back to the hotel.  “You don’t believe me.”

            “Misha, you’ve been under one hell of a lot of stress. You recently passed out in a car. Thank God you weren’t driving! But the bottom line is that your mind is playing tricks on you.”

            Misha pulled out his phone, brought up the picture, and handed it over.  “Then explain that.”

            “Well, I can’t, not really.  But let’s do this.  I’ll e-mail it to our effects guys, ask them how it was done.  They’ll get to the bottom of this, alright?”

            “Alright.”  Misha stared out at the night.

            “Bottom line, you know none of this is true.  A couple of dead siblings named Sam and Dean Winchester did not contact you.  There was never any car accident where Jensen or I died.  And I have no idea what else you saw.  It was Jensen, but it wasn’t Jensen?  So who was it?”

            Who was it.  Misha thought maybe he knew the answer to that question, but that was even more impossible than Sam Winchester fucking Jared Padalecki.  He continued to watch the night.  “I don’t know.”

            Jared sighed.  “Alright.  How about this.  Let’s just get back, sleep it off.  And tomorrow, we’ll see what the effects guys have to say.”


	12. Downward Spiral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I cannot believe all of the wonderful comments! You guys inspire me so much! Want to again stress that I mean NO disrespect to anyone in this story. Female on male domestic violence is, in my opinion, not talked about nearly enough. But I'm not implying anything at all about the real actors. I'm just telling a (very confusing) story here. If I do my job right, it will all make sense in the end.
> 
> Trigger warnings for some serious non-con ahead. I will do a summary at the end in case anyone prefers to skip this chapter

            “I’m alright, Misha.”

            “Are you really?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Jensen, she beat the shit out of you!”

            “I know, I was there, alright?  But it’s better now.”

            “Pain pills make everything better!”

            “It’s not the meds.  You’ve seen the news, right?  How supportive everyone’s been?”

            “Yeah.”  He’d seen it alright.  The entire Supernatural family had rallied around their wounded star.  Jensen’s bruised, battered, smiling face had been all over the news, the heroic survivor of a vicious attack and near-kidnapping. The studio was under pressure to better protect its stars.  Guards had been posted on Misha, Jared, and Jensen while they were in Vancouver, security at the studios was beefed up.  Misha’s privacy had been drastically reduced.  Everywhere he went, he was hounded for quotes.  He’d smiled, talked about what a sweet, loving and wonderful man Jensen was and that he hoped the person responsible was prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.  And meanwhile, the person responsible was right there, standing supportively next to her husband, gazing lovingly into the face she’d beaten to a pulp with her shoe. Jensen never seemed to be without her, usually with her clinging to his arm or his waist.  Just put him on a leash and get it over with, Danneel, preferably with a shock collar so you can zap him if he slips up, says the wrong thing.

            “You know, I’m kind of glad this happened,” Jensen said, snapping Misha out of his thoughts.

            “Excuse me?!”

            “Danneel and I were in a rough patch, and it was starting to affect the kids.  But now? Misha, you could not imagine a better wife and mother!  She’s been fantastic, helping with my skin treatments and my meds, making dinner, taking care of all the day to day shit around the house, making sure I get enough rest.  We’ve gone for walks, we’ve talked for hours, and even the sex is great!  It’s like it was back when we started dating.”

            “You mean when she was your beard?”

            “Dammit, Misha, don’t be like that, alright?!” Jensen lowered his voice.  “Danneel is my whole world!  I know I’ll never be able to give her what she wants, but I can still be a good husband to her.  And I do love her, Mish.  She’s the mother of my children!”

            “Who beat you so badly we had to suspend shooting for a week until the swelling went down enough that we could cover your bruises with make-up!”

            All the warmth left Jensen’s voice.  “Yes, Misha, she beat me.  She beat me, she choked me until I passed out, she tied me to a fireplace grate and pounded on my kidneys with a shoe until I was pissing blood...”

            It hit like a punch in the gut.  “Um, what?  That is news to me, Jensen!”

            “Yeah, well, my point is, it was horrible, and it will never happen again.  That whole thing really opened her eyes to what she was becoming.  You should have seen her, Mish!  She was on her knees in front of me, clinging to my hands, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe, begging me to forgive her.  It broke my heart!”

            “I’ll bet.  And what was her excuse this time, for doing it in the first place?”

            “You know, I don’t even care.  Bottom line is she shouldn’t have done it.”

            “Thank God, the man sees reason!”

            Jensen sighed.  “You’ve never liked her, Misha.  Neither of you has, you or Jared.  But she’s a sweet girl, and...”

            Misha held the phone away from his ear and breathed hard through his nose, trying to control his rising nausea.  He couldn’t take this.  He couldn’t listen anymore as the man he loved made excuse after excuse for the woman who beat him.  In some ways, domestic violence was worse than murder.  At least a murder victim only suffered once and didn’t leave the victim trying to deal with physical and emotional scars he or she tried desperately to justify.  The problem was that the violence had a tendency to escalate.  Every cop could tell story after story about how victims would continue to deny the problem, go back again and again to their abuser and take more and worse abuse until finally the violence ended in murder. But until then, after the violence the abuser was the perfect spouse/boyfriend/girlfriend/partner.  No one was better at picking up the broken pieces, rebuilding their favorite victim once more and making them feel like a million bucks.  They were master manipulators.  Physical strength or size made no difference.  Jensen was six foot one and athletic, but it didn’t matter because a guy like him would never raise a hand to his wife, no matter what she did to him. Danneel was his whole world. Jensen repeated that like a mantra. And she knew it.  After the incident with the phone, Danneel had bent over backwards to show her love for Jensen, just as she was doing now.  And Jensen had been so grateful, talking about how she picked him up when he was at his lowest point.  Never mind the simple fact she’d put him there in the first place, battered his body and shattered his heart like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. All that mattered was that she put him back together.

            Jensen was still speaking when Misha was able to put the phone back to his ear, but fortunately, he was talking about work. “...especially if they really do tighten up security.  But here’s the thing, Misha.  We need to talk about the two of us.”

            That surprised Misha.  “The two of us?  Oh, with the increased security, yes, we’ll need to be a lot more careful.”

            “Um, that’s not what I was getting at.” Jensen took a deep breath, and Misha suddenly felt cold.  “Mish, listen, you know I really care about you, right?  We’re good friends.”

            “Jensen?”

            “You’re like a brother to me, ok?  And I know, you and I, we’ve had a real good thing together, but...”

            No.  No no no. “Don’t do this, Jensen,” Misha pleaded. “Please, don’t do this!  Don’t leave me!”

            “I’m not leaving you, alright?  We’ll still see each other, at work or socially. Just, this thing we’ve had going on? It’s gotta stop, Misha.”

            Sharp pain shot through Misha’s chest.  He clung to the counter for support.  “No, Jensen, please!”

            “Dammit, stop making this harder than it has to be! We knew when we started that it couldn’t last, alright?”

            “Did we, then?  Because the only thing I thought when we started was that we worked!”

            “Then you’re delusional!”

            “I’m delusional?!  Pot, meet kettle!”

            “It never could have worked!  We knew that from the start!”

            “Only because you refused to let it work!”  He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to control his racing heartrate.  “Jensen, our relationship has meant far more to me than you knew!”

            “I know, and it meant a lot to me, too, Misha. But it’s gotta end, ok?  Danneel and I need to try to make our marriage work.”

            “Your marriage is a fucking lie!” Misha yelled. “That’s why I don’t understand why you stay, why you let her hurt you.  You don’t love her...”

            “I do love her, just not the way she wants, the way she deserves.  But I gotta try.”

            “Because she’s your whole world?”  Misha sneered the words into the phone, his voice dripping with bitter anger.

            “Misha, stop.  My kids need stability, and after what happened, well, Danneel’s making a real effort.  If I don’t make an effort too, what kind of man am I?”

            “A man living in a fucking lie!  Jensen, leave her!”

            “I’m not going to do that.”  His voice was hard now, and Misha knew his chance was gone. “I’m sorry, Misha.  But I’ve been living in two worlds, my whole life has been a lie, and it’s just too much.  I need to make a choice.  I’m choosing my marriage.  But I want you to know that it did mean something to me, alright?  I didn’t just, you know, use you.”

            “It meant something to me too, Jensen.  It meant a lot to me.”  More than you’ll ever know.

            “Sorry.”  And then Jensen was gone.  He was gone.

            Misha’s legs gave out, and he fell heavily to the ground.  The phone clattered from his hands.  Not trusting himself to walk, Misha crawled as quickly as he could to the bathroom. He barely made it before his stomach expelled all its contents, leaving him dry heaving, sobbing, and gasping. It was over.  No more sneaking kisses between sets.  No more making love at conventions.  He’d never hold Jensen again, never hear the little noises he made, never see those beautiful green eyes blown black as Misha took him over the edge.  How could he do this?  How could he see Jensen day after day and not touch him, hold him, care for him after they made love, tell him how beautiful he was, how special and wonderful?  Now Jensen was truly trapped in his marriage. And nothing and no one could get him out.

            Misha flushed the revolting mess away, managed to stand at the sink and rinse out his mouth.  He looked up, glaring into his own bloodshot eyes.  Your fault.  When the man you love desperately needed help, he called you.  He was going to let you take him to the hospital.  You had one chance, one chance to help him.  And instead you freaked out.  Jensen had been beaten so badly his kidneys were passing blood into his urine, and the only reason he went to the hospital that night was because he went with you.  Jensen needed you, and you let him down.  You completely and utterly failed him.  Now he’s gone, and it’s your fault.  All your fault.  So go ahead, Collins.  Fall back down.  Let your stomach heave some more.  Cry like a child until you’re out of tears.  It won’t matter.  You failed Jensen.  Next time, she might kill him, and it is all.  Your. Fault.

            Your fault, Collins.  Dean had been right.  Misha went about his life and left nothing but pain and heartache in his wake.

            Vickie had taken the kids and gone out with friends, not expecting Misha to return.  He’d told her to stay and enjoy herself.  That meant he was alone in the house.  The new protocols were that he was supposed to call for a bodyguard to go with him when he went out.  To hell with the protocols.  It wasn’t like anyone had actually tried to abduct Jensen, after all.  Misha strongly doubted that the real monster wanted much to do with him.  He called for a cab and went out.  None of the places he usually went with Vickie, Misha couldn’t handle seeing anyone he knew right now.  Just find some dive somewhere, anyplace that served drinks, who cared.  Drink after drink, until the pain was little more than a dull ache.  It didn’t matter who saw him, who took his picture.  Sign whatever people put in front of you.  Someone offered him a pill, who cared what it was, take it. Oh, that was lovely.  Now he couldn’t feel much of anything.

            People pulling at him.  He stumbled after them, slid into the waiting car.  Another pill, a drink from a flask that burned his throat and made him cough.  Laughter, voices.  His eyes closed, his head lolling, resting against someone’s shoulder.  Something was wrong, something about being in a moving vehicle with strangers was triggering something, some sense of alarm even through the drugs and alcohol in his system.  “What are you doing?  Where are you taking me?”

            “Got ourselves a date with an angel!”  More laughter.  He couldn’t open his eyes.  His lids were too heavy.

            The car stopped, and Misha was pushed out, stumbling, hands catching him, forcing him to move.  Sweet familiar smells.  He didn’t want to be here.  “I need to call a cab.  I want to go home.  Where’s my phone?”

            “You don’t want to leave.”

            But he did want to leave.  He tried to turn, to go back through the door.  His strength was gone.  He could barely stand.  The hands that caught him turned him easily, pushed him back.  “Let me out.  I want to go home.”

            Voices shushed him.  He stumbled through a door, fell onto something soft.  Hands all over him, dragging him further up onto what felt like a bed, tugging at his clothes.  Someone climbed on top of him, kissing him.  It wasn’t Jensen, Jensen didn’t want him anymore, who was it?  The kiss was deep, almost too much.  He didn’t want it.  But he could feel himself responding, his body reacting even though drinking this much alcohol usually killed his sex drive.  It was noticeable.  Someone was pointing his erection out, talking loudly.  People laughed.  His cheeks flushed in shame as he tried to get up.  Someone pushed him back down.  He had to get away, but they wouldn’t let him go.  “Stop, leave me alone!”

            “Shh, just relax, angel!”

            “No, I want to go home!” 

            “There’s at least one part of you that wants to stay!” Laughter.

            Someone was kissing him again, holding his head still as he tried to turn his face away.  No.  He didn’t want this.  He strained, tried once more to get up, tried to push the person on top of him away. Hands caught him, pinned him, held him down.  He couldn’t get loose.  He forced his eyes open, saw people all around him in a dark, crowded room. Strangers pinned his limbs, held cell phone cameras in the air, cheered and whistled as a woman perched on top of him made short work of the buttons on his shirt, ripping each one off and tossing them around the room.  People cheered, diving after them.  Nothing was familiar.  Hands now rubbed at the exposed skin of his chest and abdomen.  He struggled.  “Get off! Stop!”

            Laughter.  Taunting voices.  “Come on, Collins!”

            “You’re an actor, act for us, would ya?”

            “Let’s see that angel blade!”

            “Get off me!”  So dizzy.  Everything was blurry, confusing.  He couldn’t get up, couldn’t get away, couldn’t get them to stop kissing and touching him.  He shook his head, fear starting to fight its way through the haze.  He gasped, feeling a hand force its way down the front of his pants.  “No!  Stop!”  He struggled, tried to kick, tried to buck off the person on top of him.  But now there were two on top of him, one on his chest still trying to kiss him, one on his thighs tugging and pulling on his pants. Multiple people were around him, pinning down his arms and legs.  They wouldn’t let him go.  He couldn’t move.  He was trapped.  “Stop, leave me alone, I don’t want this!  Help!  Someone please help me!”

            He was silenced when the woman on his chest stole another kiss from him.  She wouldn’t stop.  She was trying to make him open his mouth, trying to push her tongue past his clenched teeth.  He held on. She pinched his nose.  Now he couldn’t breathe.  He gasped for air, and she licked into his mouth.  He tried to yell, tried to twist free.  He was afraid to bite her, that she might bleed into his mouth.  But he couldn’t make her stop.  The hand in his pants groped him, squeezing, and he felt sick.

            Panic did wonders when it came to clearing the head. Misha looked around in shock.  How had he gotten here?  People were all around him, filming him being assaulted, actually cheering his assailants on even as he fought and cried out for help. But really, was it any less than he deserved?  If they raped him, killed him, would it really matter?  His friends and family would miss him, his children would grow up without a father.  But they’d never know just how badly he’d failed the one person who meant far more to him than his own life.  Maybe it was better this way.  He closed his eyes, stopped struggling and went quiet, went still.  Let it happen.  Without Jensen, his life wasn’t worth living anyway.

            “Ok, children, playtime’s over!”

            Loud, ear-splitting bangs, the acrid smell of gunpowder.  Screams, panic.  Misha opened his eyes, saw the people around him racing for the door.  His head spun, his vision swam.  Footsteps, someone coming closer.  A rough hand caught his chin, turned his face.  Someone stood over him, but Misha couldn’t focus.  “Son of a bitch.  Damn it, Collins!”

            “Dean?”

            “It sure as hell ain’t the maid service, but it looks like I’m cleaning up your mess all the same.  Shit!”  Dean sighed. He tucked his pistol into a shoulder holster and slipped his arms under Misha, grunting as he lifted.  “Diet time!”

            “Fuck you!”

            “Well, good to see you’re not drugged completely out of your mind.  What the hell did you take?”

            “I dunno?”

            “Perfect.  That’s just perfect, Collins.  Ok, I know what to do.”

            Suddenly Misha was falling.  He flailed, but Dean had only dumped him forward.  For an old dead guy, he was pretty strong.  Misha looked down and realized with dismay that he’d been positioned on his knees in front of a toilet.  “What?”

            “Open wide!”

            A finger went down Misha’s throat.  Misha gagged, leaned forward, and rapidly emptied his stomach.  Dean did it twice more, either to be sure or just for fun, Misha wasn’t sure which. But he was certain now that there was no more trace of either the drugs or the alcohol he’d consumed in his stomach. “Ok, I suppose I deserved that.”

            “We ain’t done.”

            Once again, hands were pulling at his clothes. Misha fought, and Dean sighed. “Look, Collins, you already know me from the inside out, so don’t get all delicate on me now, ok?”

            “What?”  Surely Dean couldn’t mean that...

            “You’ve been in me.  And Sam.  And Cas. You get around, boy!  And you’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before, so shut up and help me get your pants off.”

            Soon Misha was naked, shivering, and ashamed. Then it got worse when Dean dumped him into the grimy shower and turned on the cold water.  Misha thrashed frantically, complained loudly.

            “Sober now?”

            “Yes!”

            “Good!”  The water turned off.  Misha’s teeth were chattering violently as a towel hit him in the face.  “You know, I’d say at least one of whatever you took was Viagra.  Even after that cold shower, you’re still happy to see me.”

            Misha swung at him.  “Get the hell away from me, you dead freak!”

            “Sticks and stones, Collins.  You’re the one who called me.”

            “The hell I did!”  Misha’s teeth were still chattering.

            “I’ve been watching you.  I saw what was going on, but it was too crowded in that bar to really do much.  Then I almost lost you when you got into that car.  But I finally figured out where they’d brought you.  I got here just in time to hear you yelling for help.  So yes.  You called me.  Because I sure as hell didn’t see anyone else come to your rescue!”

            He had been yelling for help.  He’d been trapped, desperate, and at the mercy of strangers interested only in seeing him hurt and humiliated.  If Dean hadn’t come in when he had, God knew what would have happened to him.  Misha shuddered.  Alright. He twisted around and somehow managed to fall out of the tub, landing in a damp sprawl on the floor at Dean’s feet as he sat, grinning at him, on the radiator.  Misha sighed and started drying off.  “You’re a lot like him.”

            “Who?”

            “Dean Winchester.”

            “Just how many pills did you take?  I am Dean Winchester!”

            “I mean from the show.”  He rubbed at his hair.  “I can see him doing something like this.”

            “Hmm, giving a cold shower to a whacked-out Castiel?  The Destiel fans would go wild!”

            And that brought back the pain.  Misha groaned and curled into a ball of misery. “Thank you for helping me.  Now please, just leave me alone.”

            “Do you have any idea what my boyfriend would do to me if he found out I left you drunk, stoned, and naked on the floor of a crack den?”  A foot nudged him.  “Come on, dry off and at least get your undies on.  You can sleep it off in the RV.”

            Misha managed to do that without injuring himself, but found standing next to impossible, walking completely impossible.  Dean dumped him over his shoulder and headed out.  Misha managed to stay conscious long enough for Dean to dump him onto a bed in the RV before everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jensen breaks up with Misha to try to save his marriage. Misha hits bottom and goes out drinking alone, does drugs, and is taken away by strangers who are assaulting him when he is rescued by Dean.


	13. Guardian Angels

            “Wake up.”

            “No.”

            “Wake up.  I made coffee.”

            “Don’t care.”

            “Collins, wake up and drink this coffee.  Or I get a tube, shove it up your ass, and you drink it in reverse. Your choice.”

            Misha sat up, his hand out for the coffee and his eyes closed.  When a mug was placed in his hand, he drank, not caring how hot it was.  It was astoundingly bad.  Misha kept drinking, draining the mug, and somehow managed to keep from immediately throwing it back up again.  “What’s your secret, Dean?  Turpentine? Motor oil?”

            “Cat piss.”

            “I believe it.”  He managed to open his eyes, saw Dean grinning at him with a coffee pot in his hand, and held out his mug for a refill.  “So why’d you do it?”

            “Do what?” Dean asked, pouring.

            “Save me.”

            Dean replaced the pot on the coffee maker and turned to look at Misha.  “You just can’t quite believe it, can you? That we’re not looking for revenge?”

            “All I know is that my life was complicated enough before you showed up. Now, it’s falling to pieces.”

            “That so?  You’re going to sit there, hungover in your underwear with dried drool on the side of your face and honestly tell me that a photo op at a convention is what brought you down to the point you ended up here?”

            Misha drained his coffee cup as an excuse not to respond, forgetting for a moment just how bad it was.  “I’m not saying that,” he gagged.  He cleared his throat.  “I’m just saying that dealing with three dead people, one of whom may be an actual angel and another that fucked my best friend?  Has added a layer of complexity that my life really did not need.  And I’m sorry I drooled on your pillow.”

            “Wasn’t my pillow.”

            Misha looked around, saw the red comforter with “Blood Riders” on it, the crumpled red nightie next to the pillow, and the pictures of motorcycles and riders that plastered the walls around the bed.  “Oh.  Well, tell Sam I’m sorry I drooled on her pillow.”

            “She drools on it enough.  She also snores to wake the dead, and I mean that literally!  She wakes me up out of a sound sleep!  The only time I get any sleep is when Cas is with me, which has not happened recently.”

            “Oh? Where is he?”

            “Keeping an eye on Jensen Ackles.”

            “He’s done a hell of a job so far!” Misha snapped, suddenly furious.

            “Actually, he has.  He couldn’t flat-out heal your pretty little boyfriend like he did last time, too many eyes on him right now.  But he’s been keeping watch.  So far, he’s knocked on the door when Ackles was staring too long at a bottle of pills, dumped out three bottles of liquor, and pretended to be a fangirl out for an autograph when Jensen was looking a little too seriously at the path of an oncoming train.  Your boy’s a wreck, Collins.  Cas has had his work cut out for him.”

            “Where the hell was he before, when she was beating the shit out of him?!  If Cas is an angel, then why the fuck didn’t he stop it?”

            “Why the fuck didn’t you?  You knew that bitch was hurting him!  Ackles doesn’t need an angel, he needs an intervention!  Besides, if you’ll recall, Collins, we played a small part in getting Ackles out of that mess once before. You’re the one who undid it all.”

            “I cannot think about that.  It makes my brain hurt.”  And the idea that Jensen may have actually been considering suicide would destroy him if he thought about it.  “Fine, Cas is with Jensen, so where’s Sam?”

            “Who’s left?”

            “She’s with Jared?”

            “Why do you think she was in that club?”

            “Looked to me like she was trading in her motorcycle to ride a Polish stallion!”

            Dean grimaced.  “Dude, I did not need that mental image, ok?  Believe me, I am not any happier than you are about Jared Padalecki bumping uglies with my sister!  But no one tells Sammy what to do.”

            “Yeah, I already got that impression.  Where is she now?”

            “Bumping uglies with Jared Padalecki.”

            “What?!”

            “Yeah, he called her, they got together, and she’s been shacked up somewhere bouncing on him this whole week.  The three of us each took one of you.  I clearly got the short straw.”

            “Well, Dean, if you want to fuck me, you could just try buying me dinner?” Misha snapped, irritable.

            “Really, Collins?”  Dean struck a pose.  “You want this?”

            “Apparently, I already had it.”

            “You want some more?”

            “I think I’ll pass.  I’m not into necro.”

            “Good, because I’ve moved on from the land of the living in more ways than one.” Dean sipped at his coffee. Judging by the face he made, not even he could stomach it.  “You know, most of the time, being here?  It’s not so hard to deal with.  A lot’s changed in half a century, but for the most part, people are all the same. But things are starting to come full circle.  In Sammy’s time, they had the sexual revolution.  Free love, women’s empowerment, that sort of thing.  That’s the time Sammy grew up in.  Me?  People like us, it didn’t matter that we go for women too.  You look at another man, and they had all kinds of names for you. The nicest ones were ‘a wee bit lavender’ or ‘light in the loafers’ or ‘half a bubble off.’  Did Joe tell you about the two of us?”

            “Not in so many words, but as I grew older, yeah, I kind of got the impression.”

            Dean smiled softly.  “Joe was a good man.  I didn’t love him, but we were good for each other, kept each other company, knowing that we’d go our separate ways when we went home, get married, have kids, the usual. He ever get married?”

            “I don’t think so.  I guess that’s another sin you can lay at my feet, that he never moved on after you.”

            “Nah, I should thank you for that.  I died, so he didn’t have to go through the heartbreak when I broke up with him, I guess.  Well shit.” He finished his coffee and moved to rinse out his and Misha’s cups.  “Thing was, if anyone found out about us?  Well, chances were that would end our military careers, possibly our civilian careers, as well.  By the time Sammy was running with the Riders, it was a bit more accepted.  Then it became taboo again.  Now here you are, you and Jensen hiding what you really are to each other, for the same reason Joe and I did.”

            “How do you know all of this?” Misha wondered.  “The history of the world after you died, or about me and Jensen?”

            “No idea.  I just know. I also know that you need to get yourself cleaned up and dressed.  Your clothes are pretty torn up, so you can borrow a set of mine.  I gotta get you up to Vancouver.”

            Misha blinked.  “What day is today?”  Dean told him and Misha swore.  He quickly jumped up, nearly fell on his face, and waited for his balance to return. “How long was I out?”

            “Long enough.  Relax, it’s not like you have to rush to catch a plane.”

            “What do you...  Oh. Oh!  Really?”

            “Throw up in my baby and I’m ejecting you.”

            Misha felt honored.  He clasped Dean’s arm, received a smile and a nod in return.  Then he paused.  “Why did you watch over me?  Why did the three of you watch over all three of us?”

            “Because things are coming to a head soon.”  Dean’s expression was serious.  “Have you read your script?”

            “Um, no?”  He’d been too busy spiraling down into self-destruction to do something like that.

            “You’ll understand when you read it.”

            That wasn’t worrying at all.

            It was still well before sunrise when Dean helped him into the rear seat of the jet.  Misha couldn’t hide his grin of excitement.  It was like being in Top Gun.  “Talk to me, Goose!”

            “You said what?”  Dean’s voice sounded slightly distorted over the headset in Misha’s helmet.

            “Just enjoying a childhood fantasy, bear with me.”

            “Whatever.”

            Misha had expected some sort of complicated checklist.  But Dean had switched on the engines in moments.  The big black jet rose slowly into the air, turned, and then started forward, moving faster and faster until Misha found himself plastered back into his seat.

            “You ok back there?”

            “Just great!” Misha squeaked.

            “Well, I filed a flight plan last night, and it turns out we got a pretty narrow window to cross the border into Canada, so we’re going to have to make it a little quick.  Best way to do that is to put the pedal down a little.  No shame if you pass out, but if you hold your breath and bear down a bit, it helps.”

            It didn’t help.  Misha lost consciousness moments after Baby’s engines kicked in, rocketing them into the sky. But it was worth it when he came back around.  They were high above the clouds, and the sky was filled with stars.  Misha stared in wonder, watching as the sky grew brighter and the stars faded.  Beneath them, the Earth became blue and beautiful.

            “Pretty nice, huh?”

            “Yeah!”  Misha was staring with wide-eyed wonder through the canopy.

            Dean chuckled.  “We’re gonna start heading down now.  We’re actually a bit ahead of schedule, so we can take it easy.  Enjoy the ride!”

            Misha did.  Flying with Dean wasn’t anything like riding in a passenger plane.  Dean had apparently decided to give Misha a good show and had inverted, flying low over the city of Vancouver.  Misha loved it.  He couldn’t imagine what the people below thought, seeing the modified fighter jet roaring just overhead.  But then Misha spotted the familiar studio.  Dean flipped upright, coming in low over the studio parking lot, and Misha stiffened. “Um, Dean?  You cannot park this jet in the studio parking lot!”

            “I’m dead!  I can park my jet wherever the hell I want!”

            There was absolutely no argument to that.  Dean expertly maneuvered the jet, setting Baby down across multiple parking spots in the far corner of the lot.  At least he’d avoided the handicapped spots.  By the time he’d popped the canopy and Misha was climbing out, the producers and director were already running across the lot.  Misha pulled off his helmet and waved.  “Hey, guys!”

            “Misha, what the hell is this?!”

            Misha indicated his pilot.  “I want you to meet Dean Winchester.”

            Dean waved.  “How do you like my baby?”

            “Misha, this is the worst prank you have ever done.  How in the hell did you get anyone to let you fly in here in a jet?!”

            The sound of loud rock music announced the arrival of Sam on her motorcycle, a familiar figure looming over her from behind.  She popped back onto her rear wheel and roared through the gate, completely ignoring both the shouting guards and her overly-excited moose of a passenger that whooped and pumped his fist as they approached.

            Misha indicated the pair.  “And that would be Dean’s sister, Sam Winchester, riding in with Jared.  You have to admit, our entrance was much cooler.”

            “You guys?  You’re going to send me to an early grave!  Just get on the set, and be on time for once, would you, Collins?!”  The group stormed off, complaining loudly to each other without looking back.

            Sam, meanwhile, had circled the lot in a more leisurely fashion, coming to a stop near Baby.  Misha sighed. “Dammit, Jared!”

            Jared climbed off, pulled off his helmet, and gave Misha a hangdog grin. “I know what you’re probably thinking,” he began, “but before you fly off the handle?  Sam and I have been doing a lot of talking, ok?  We actually did a road trip, coming up here from Texas on her bike, and it was amazing!  What she’s got to say makes a lot of sense.  So could you maybe talk to her before you do whatever it is you’re thinking about doing when you glare at her like you are?”

            “We’ll talk,” Misha said, making it sound more like a threat.  Jared winced.  “What about Jensen?”

            “Here he comes now.”

            Misha saw with no surprise at all that Cas had appeared, standing between Dean and Sam.  He’d heard the sound of the invisible bells just before Cas spoke.  Jared looked startled.  Then he looked at the gate.  The five of them watched as a shiny black limo rolled smoothly through the gate.  Jensen never came to the set in a limo, which told Misha he hadn’t come alone.  Sure enough, the driver got out, opened the door, and Danneel appeared, followed by Jensen.  Even from where they were standing across the parking lot, Misha could see the dark marks of still-fading bruises on his former lover’s face.  His hands clenched into fists at his sides.  But Jensen was smiling as he kissed his wife, slapped her playfully on the rump, and headed in.  He did a double-take at the sight of the jet and changed direction, jogging out to take a look.  “Tell me that is in the script and I get to be in it!”

            “Afraid not,” Jared called.  “It’s just Misha’s new ride.  That’s Baby. This is Sam Winchester, her brother Dean, and that’s Castiel.”

            Jensen laughed.  Then he paused, seeing their expressions.  “Wait, seriously?”

            “Let’s just get to make-up?” Misha advised.  “You especially are going to need some extra time.  Dean, thanks for the ride.”  Tossing his helmet to Dean, Misha walked quickly around Jensen and headed towards the set.


	14. Jared

            Misha found himself buttonholed by Jared as soon as he was out of make-up.  “Can we talk about this?”

            “What’s to talk about?  You’re into necro, whatever, that’s your business. Hopefully your dick won’t rot off.”

            “Come on, Misha!”

            “Dammit Jared, how the hell could you be with her, of all people?!  I know you said she’s a great lay, but come on!”

            Jared rolled his eyes.  “That was beneath you, Misha.  You just can’t pull off the whole misogynist bit, so don’t even try.  And don’t think I didn’t see that scene with you and Jensen at the jet!  Aside from the fact that you probably just got the gate guards fired...”

            “There was no way they could have stopped a fighter jet.  But you and Sam probably got them fired!”

            “I’ll talk to someone.  But I was making a point, and my point is that I would have expected you to at least try to talk to Jensen, make sure he was alright, you know, the way I did?  The last thing I expected from you was for you to give him the cold shoulder, but that’s what you did!  You should have seen his face!  You crushed him!  Misha, what the hell is wrong with you?”

            Misha slumped.  “He dumped me, alright?  You’ll have to forgive me if I’m having some difficulty with it.”

            Jared immediately became sympathetic.  “Aw, man!  Mish, I’m sorry, buddy.”

            Misha nodded.  “Still didn’t give me the right to hurt Jensen.  Next time I see him, I’ll do better, I promise.  And I’m glad you’re doing well with Sam Winchester.” He grinned.

            Jared sighed.  “Don’t start.”

            “Not a single joke about you fucking yourself came into my mind.”

            Jared walked away, flipping Misha the bird over his shoulder.

            Misha went out to the set, sat down, and immediately fell through his booby-trapped chair.  He picked up a bottle of water and discovered a hole.  A strip-o-gram arrived on set for the director, claiming to have been sent by Misha Collins.  Someone put vaseline inside the sleeve of his trench coat that got on his hand when he put it on.  Someone tried to barricade him inside the men’s room.  Apparently, Jared and Jensen had felt the need for some stress relief.

            Misha picked up his copy of the script (covered with crudely drawn penises) and sat down in a chair he’d carefully screened for booby traps to read it.  At first read, it seemed pretty tame.  But as he continued to read, he quickly realized the problem.  So that was why they were here.  This was not good.

            Misha thought for a moment, considering his options, and made a decision.  Getting up, he sought out the director.  “I need a favor,” he began.  “There’s a scene here, at the end of the episode, in the Impala?  The one where Sam and Dean are exhausted after all the fighting and Dean finally lets Cas drive Baby?”  He swallowed.  “I wondered if we could take that scene out?”

            “Take it out?  Misha, it’s a sweet scene.  Dean is finally trusting Cas with his baby?  The fans are going to love it!”

            “I know, but listen.  You know I recently had, um, an episode?  After Jensen got hurt?  Well, that episode, it happened when I was in my car, trying to drive Jensen to the hospital.  And since then, well, it’s a bit embarrassing, but frankly, I’ve had some trouble getting behind the wheel.  I get shaky, my hands start to sweat, I feel dizzy like I’m going to pass out again... It’s a full-fledged panic attack! I just don’t think I’m going to be able to do this scene.”

            The director looked sympathetic.  “Well I’m glad you told me, Misha.  Alright.  Let me talk to some people, see if we can’t rewrite it.  And meanwhile, we’ll reschedule the shoot, move some scenes around and push that one back.”

            “Thanks!”

            “Don’t mention it.”

            Misha started back.  Partway back, he was stopped by one of the stage hands.  “Hey, what happened to the jet?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Didn’t you fly in this morning on a jet?  Freaked everyone out, seeing that thing swooping in after 9/11!  But it’s gone now, and no one saw it go.”

            “That so?”  Misha was glad for his acting skills.  “What about that motorcycle Jared zoomed in on?”

            “Lemme check.”  She jogged over and peered out a window.  “Yeah, I think it’s gone, too.  Tell me the truth, Misha.  That some joke you idiots are playing?”

            “Not really, no.”

            After that, Misha went to work.  Between his scenes, he checked the parking lot for himself. No jet.  No red motorcycle.  Jared, it seemed, had noticed the lack as well.  This time, he apparently registered his loss.  He looked troubled, constantly checking his cell phone. Apparently, he wasn’t able to reach Sam. By the time they broke for lunch, he was moping.  “I don’t get it,” he grumbled.  “Why would she leave without telling me?”

            “Not the first time.  At least this time, you remember her.”  Misha paused, waiting.  He blinked in surprise when Jared didn’t respond.  “Really?”

            “What do you want me to say, Misha?  That she’s not a ghost?  I know she is, alright?  I flat-out asked her and she admitted it, showed me some pictures and things to prove it.  My new girlfriend is dead, she’s been dead for longer than I have been alive, and I know all about it!  But I know a lot of things, and you know what?  I know something you don’t!”

            “And what’s that?”

            “Something is very very wrong with your life.”

            Misha suddenly lost his appetite.  He turned to face his friend, which conveniently put his back to the cooing couple on the other side of the room.  He could not handle seeing Danneel Ackles with her husband right now.  “Alright. What did she tell you?”

            “Not much.  Most of it, I figured out.  She just sort of showed me where to look.  I’ll explain.”  He pointed with a fork towards the window.  “What do you see out there?”

            “Um, the lot?”

            “Keep going.  Tell me what you see.”

            Misha looked.  “That big tree, the flowers, the lawn?”

            “And further out?”

            “Buildings, more lawns and trees, and so on?”

            “And what color are those lawns and trees?”

            “Green?”

            “Exactly!  Misha, do you remember me telling you that Sam and I did a road trip on her bike from Texas?  Well, that was a beautiful trip.  There’s something kind of freeing about being on a motorbike on a long trip.  We’d ride all day through these massive green fields, and then at night it was moon and stars from horizon to horizon. Gorgeous!  We’d stop along the way, make love in a motel room if we found one or a field if we didn’t.  And we’d talk.  She told me about her life in the Blood Riders, and I told her about the show and my failed marriage and my kids.  And that was when I realized the first thing I should have realized a long time ago.”

            “Which is?”

            “Let me finish.  We kept riding, and we kept talking, and bit by bit more and more started to come clear.  It’s funny. Once you see that first thing, it’s like your eyes are opened.  You see more and more until you have to step back and take a deep breath because absolutely nothing around you is real!  And that’s the point when you start asking yourself the real hard questions.”

            Misha waited patiently.  Jared seemed lost in his thoughts for a moment, poking at his food. He jerked his shaggy head, indicating the window.  “All that out there?  It’s green. It was green from Texas clear up through to Vancouver.  And that shouldn’t be.  It’s not possible!  Riding on that motorcycle, I realized that.  Because what is the single biggest downside to being on a motorcycle?”

            “Leg cramps?”

            “Rain, Misha.  I spent most of a week on the back of a bike, and it never rained.  And when I talked to Sam about it, asked her what we would do if we hit a rainstorm, do you know what she said? She said, ‘Don’t worry, Jared.  It never rains.’  And at first, I didn’t get it, because of course it rains!  But Misha, she’s right.  It never rains.  Think back. When was the last time you remember it raining?”

            Suddenly, all sound seemed muffled.  Misha froze, trying to think.  “Honestly, I can’t remember,” he said.  “I guess we have been in a bit of a dry spell.”

            “No, we haven’t.  Because when you look out there?  It’s all green!  It doesn’t rain, and yet nothing is brown and withered.  We’re not in a drought.  We’ve got lush vegetation clear across the country with no rain.  Now how does that make any sense?  You see, Misha?  It’s right there, right in front of us, and we just never saw it!”

            “No, it rained,” Misha argued.  “It stormed!”

            “When?”

            “It was...”  He could almost hear it, the phantom thunder, the pounding of rain. He shook his head.  “I couldn’t tell you when it was, but I know it stormed. Let me think about it for a bit and I’m sure it will come to me.”

            “Ok, then keep thinking, and let me rewind to where I was before I realized that something was wrong.  I was talking to Sam about my kids, and she asked about them. My kids, Misha.  She wanted to know about my kids.  So pretend I’m her.  Tell me about my kids.”

            “Um, alright, well, er...  I’m not sure what you want me to say?”

            “What are their names?  How old are they?  Boys or girls?”  Jared was leaning forward now, his eyes locked on Misha’s.  “You don’t know, do you?  So what about yours?  Tell me about your kids, Misha!  When is the last time you have seen your kids?  Or your wife?”

            Now Misha felt cold.  His heart was pounding.  “I talked to her on the phone before we went to that club!”

            “Great, we have both talked to our wives on the phone. When was the last time we have seen them?  You’ve got your phone, right?  You’re a family man, Mish!  Let’s see some pictures.  Show me some pictures of your wife and kids!”

            Misha grabbed for his phone, looked quickly through his pictures.  His hand was shaking so badly he nearly dropped it.  “I’m sure they’re here somewhere!  I just can’t find them right now.”

            “Fine.  When’s the last time you took a shit?”

            “Dammit, Jared, I am trying to eat!”

            “Fine, when’s the last time you ate?”

            “I did my usual morning business and ate a cereal bar.  Dean and I were heading out, and I didn’t really want a full stomach, bladder, or anything else while I was on that jet.  Do you want me to describe my bowel movement now, Jared?”

            “Maybe.  Because I don’t remember the last time I had one.  And this here?”  He indicated the tray of food he’d gotten from the craft table.  “This is the first time I’ve eaten a single thing since the last time I ate with you a week ago.  Because I don’t eat when you’re not around, Misha.  I don’t drink, either.  I don’t take a shit or a piss, I don’t sleep.  We rode across the country from Texas and the only time we stopped was to make love or watch the sun set or something like that.  Otherwise we rode day and night.  And guess what?  That big red motorcycle?  She never stopped to fuel it up once!”

            “Yes, and Dean drove his jet here without having to refuel it, and somehow just flew right across the border and basically buzzed Vancouver, and no one seemed to care for the same reason that motorcycle doesn’t need gas!  Because they shouldn’t exist, because they’re both dead, Jared!”

            “Exactly!”  Jared slammed his palm against the table.  “They’re dead, Misha!  And so am I. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

            Misha’s head was spinning.  Once again, the phantom thunder rumbled.  “No, Jared, you’re not dead.  You’re not!  You cannot be dead!”

            “You know, the only one of the three of us whose wife I have actually seen is Danneel?  Isn’t that ironic?  Does that mean she’s still alive?  Because I’m fairly certain Jensen’s dead, too.”

            “Why the hell would you say that?”

            “Because I think we both died the same way, Misha. And you told me how it happened. The car accident.”

            Misha shook his head rapidly.  “No, no, there was no car accident!”

            “Fine.  Prove it. Let me grab Jensen, and you can jump in one of the cars and take us for a spin around the lot.”

            Misha seized his arm in a vice grip, pulling him down as he tried to get up.  Jared nodded. “Thought so,” he called, sitting back down.  “You never drive with me or Jensen in the car, Misha.  Because the last time you drove with us, you got into an accident. And Jensen and I died!”

            “Stop saying that!  Neither one of you is dead, Jared.  Not you, and not Jensen.  It isn’t possible, and I refuse to accept that!”

            “And maybe that’s it right there?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Well Misha, you said you made Sam and Dean disappear from your trailer before, made us all lose all memory of them and basically re-wrote history, all because you realized they didn’t make sense and basically wished them away.  You decided not to accept that they were there, and so suddenly they weren’t. Well, if you also refuse to accept that Jensen and I are dead, maybe that’s why we’re both here?”

            “Come on, Jared!”

            “And you said yourself that you could do this because you realized you were the one who brought them back in the first place. You kind of proved that’s the case if you could poof them away!  Then the shit happened with Jensen because no one remembered it happening before.  So you started to regret making them vanish, and suddenly they’re back again!  But Misha, you forgot something very important.”

            Misha froze.  “What?  What did I forget?”

            “Back at your trailer, when they first visited you on set and you logicked them out of existence?  The moment you poofed them, you poofed us, as well!  Jensen and I were in that trailer, too.  And when you made Sam and Dean vanish, you made us vanish right along with them!”

            Misha went silent.

            Jared got up.  “I need to get back on the set.  Since I really don’t see the need to keep eating, I’m going to leave this here.  I pretty much got it by habit in the first place. So I’ll leave it for the living, while I go back to work.  Then afterwards, I’ll keep trying to call my dead girlfriend.  We seem to have more in common than you’d think.”


	15. Missing Pieces

            Jared was right.  Now that Misha had started to see what was wrong in his life, he kept seeing more.  The long commutes between California and Vancouver that he never quite remembered simply didn’t happen.  It was more like moving from one set, Misha’s home he shared with his non-existent wife, to the next, the studio in Vancouver.  The hotel was another matter.  It was always the same hotel room.  No matter where the location or what the hotel chain, Misha always had the exact same room.  He tested it by writing a note and hiding it behind the frame of the picture on the wall during a shoot on location.  When he arrived back at his room in Vancouver, he checked, and found the note.

            Jared slipped into what was all too obviously depression.  Seeing the warning signs, Misha immediately urged him to take his meds, talk to his therapist.  But his answer was chilling.  “What’s the point, Misha?  I’m already dead, so what’s the worst that can happen?”

            Unfortunately, that was the question that was heavy on Misha’s mind when it came to Jensen.  The news that Jensen may actually be suicidal had chilled Misha to his core.  But really, how could Jensen take his own life if he was already dead?  Why did Cas even try to stop him if that was the case? But Misha couldn’t bear the thought of either of his friends being dead.  He spent hours with Jared, getting him to talk, convincing him to start taking his meds again.  Jared had taken a dose in front of Misha, even showing Misha his empty mouth afterwards with no prompting to reassure him.  “To be honest, I still don’t see the point of this, Misha,” Jared told him. “But I don’t see why I’m having this trouble in the first place.  The only time I ever eat or do anything even remotely normal is when I’m around you, which seems to indicate that you’re somehow at the center of this.  Combine that with the idea that you’re the one who brought back Sam and Dean, and we’re looking at the probability that you brought me and Jensen back as well.  Now throw in the fact that everyone believes we both have wives and kids that don’t seem to exist, and, well, what can I say?  You play Castiel, Misha, not Chuck!  But you seem to have a lot of Chuck-ish abilities here.”

            “I keep thinking about that accident, what I saw. I keep seeing Jensen lying there in the rain.  You made it to the hospital, but it sounded like you weren’t going to last much longer when they were taking me in.  But see, here is where I get stuck.  Because I saw Vickie there, Jared.  She talked to me.  She existed in that dream.  So why doesn’t she exist here?”

            Jared couldn’t answer that.  How could he?  But it puzzled Misha.  It was yet another thing in an ever-growing list of things that didn’t make sense, but somehow, it seemed to stand out.  The fact that Vickie had been there at the hospital, that Misha had seen her, spoken to her, seemed vitally important.  But Misha couldn’t quite grasp it.

            He couldn’t think about it anymore.  Not when what was really on his mind was Jensen.

            Danneel was staying with Jensen, even sharing his room at the hotel when they went on location.  She was always around, only leaving him alone when he was working. Then she was back again to reclaim her husband the moment he was finished.  Jensen seemed happy.  He laughed and joked and played pranks just as he always did as his awful bruises slowly faded.  Misha saw him talking to Jared, looking concerned, and knew that he’d picked up on Jared’s depression as well.  But Jensen never spoke with Misha beyond polite small talk or what was required on set. There was a gulf between them that others had noticed.  Misha saw a couple of the grips giving him odd looks when they saw Jensen take a seat some distance from Misha, ignoring the open chair right next to him at meals. But maybe that was better. Danneel typically showed up for meals as well now, often bringing Jensen something special.  People were talking about the happy couple, how concerned Danneel was for her husband, how she rarely let him out of her sight.  She was such a devoted wife.  Of course she was concerned.  She stuck to Jensen’s side, supporting and loving, doing everything she could do to get him through this difficult time.

            Finally, Misha couldn’t take it anymore.

            He knew that Danneel was looking for work. She’d gone to multiple auditions while Jensen was working on the set, even landed a few minor roles.  Ironic.  A great deal of the control she had over Jensen now had to do with a prenuptial agreement they’d signed that limited how much Jensen could take of her earnings and granted the lion’s share of their collective property, as well as custody of their children, to her.  When they’d signed it, they’d had no children, Supernatural was in danger of being cancelled, no one suspected what a success it would turn out to be, and they’d both imagined it would be Danneel who would find success as an actress. When the show had finally taken off and Jensen Ackles became a household name, the agreement had put most of the power into her hands.  She’d be a struggling actress if it weren’t for her husband’s success, and yet she’d have the bulk of everything he had if their marriage failed.  She certainly didn’t have to work.  Misha suspected she kept trying out of pride.  It wasn’t like she needed the money.  But at least her latest role meant that Jensen would finally be alone tonight in his hotel room, while she had her own room near where she’d be shooting.  Misha had no intention of letting that opportunity slip by.

            It was deju vu, going to Jensen’s hotel room and pounding on the door, demanding to be let in.  Misha threatening to kick the door down, then charging through it as soon as it was open, grabbing Jensen, kicking the door shut.  Except this time, Jensen, moving fast, twisted them around, and suddenly it was Misha who was being pinned down on the bed. Misha blinked in surprise, looking up at Jensen as the younger man panted, holding him down, his eyes locked with Misha’s.  “Misha?” he whispered.  “I’m sorry. We can’t do this.”

            “Let me up.”

            “I know you’re upset, but I need you to listen to me!”  The bruises on Jensen’s face were nearly gone, only greenish blotches marring his beauty.

            Misha twisted his wrists and strained, trying to push the larger man away or buck him off.  He couldn’t move.  His heart pounded.  “Let me up!”

            Jensen frowned, tightened his grip, pushing Misha’s arms down firmly to the bed.  “Please, just listen!”

            Misha thrashed.  “Let me up!  Please let me up!  Please!”

            Misha had heard of this, of trauma being triggered by innocent events.  But he’d never experienced it before.  Being unexpectedly pinned to the bed, someone sitting on top of him, holding him down. He could almost feel the hands on him, almost hear the cheers and shouts, almost see the lights of the cell phones pointing down at him, almost smell the scents of dirt and sex and sweat and drugs that filled the room where he’d been taken.  It was crazy.  This was Jensen.  But somehow, it didn’t matter.  He needed to be let up.

            Fortunately, Jensen realized something was wrong.  He immediately let Misha go.  He stood back, watching in wide-eyed surprise as Misha sat up and clutched at his own head, rocking back and forth, willing the memories to stop.  “Holy shit, Misha, are you alright?”

            “No.”  Misha forced himself to relax, forced his breathing to slow, and the flashback finally faded.  It had been horribly vivid.  He took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly, bringing himself back into the present.  Then he looked up.  “I’m sorry, Jensen.  It’s not you. After we last talked, I kind of lost it. I went out alone and got very very drunk, did some drugs, I don’t know what they were.”

            “Misha!”

            “I know.  And worst of all, I did it with strangers.  They, they took me, they put me in a car and brought me to some filthy drug den.”

            Jensen was at his side now, his arm around Misha’s shoulders and his voice full of concern.  “What did they do to you?”

            “Took me to a room, pushed me down, pinned me on a bed.  Some woman started undressing me, tearing the buttons off of my shirt and throwing them around like souvenirs and another one had her hand down my pants.”

            Jensen sucked in his breath.  “And no one did anything to stop it?!”

            Misha shook his head.  “They knew who I was, and it was like I wasn’t even a person to them because I was a celebrity.  They just wanted a show.  They wouldn’t let me go, Jen.  I was screaming for them to leave me alone, and instead they held me down and filmed it with their cell phones!”

            Jensen was breathing hard now.  He let go of Misha and got up.  There was a crash.  He’d knocked over the desk.  Another crash when Jensen threw the chair.  He was pacing, trying to regain control.  Misha didn’t look up. 

            A hand suddenly seized his bicep.  “Misha, look at me.  What did they do to you?”

            Misha shuddered.  “Held me down, kissed me, tore my clothes, felt me up, groped me a bit. I think they gave me Viagra.  It would have gotten a lot worse if Dean hadn’t come in.  He got me out.  I’m alright, Jensen, but when you pinned me down like that?”

            “Misha, you should have told me!”

            “You were a little busy at the time.”  So what if his voice was sharp and bitter.  He knew Jensen was only concerned about him. Jensen cared and was obviously very upset.  But Misha’s own pain was just too much.  He glared angrily up at Jensen.  “What was it you wanted to tell me that was so important you felt the need to pin me down anyway?  That isn’t the dynamic we both had, or are you into topping me now?”

            Jensen flinched.  He let go of Misha, backed away.  “You’re an asshole.”

            “Yeah, well, at least if I’m an asshole it means you might still fuck me once in a while.”

            “Oh, go to hell!”

            “Believe me, I am already there!  Is that what you wanted to tell me, Jensen?  That I’m an asshole and should go to hell?”

            “I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry!  For how things ended between us.  And that I can’t keep doing this!  Danneel, she’s trying, and I’m trying.  But I can’t take this, Misha!  I can’t keep on being with her when all I can think about is... Is...”

            Misha looked at him.  Green eyes full of unshed tears.  Cheeks flushed.  Jaw clenched and working, as though trying to bite back his words.  Hands in tight fists at Jensen’s sides.  Shoulders hunched.

            Misha got up.  His hand rose as if on its own, moving to Jensen’s face and rubbing at his jaw. Jensen quickly turned his face away from it.  “Don’t, ok? I can’t...”

            Turning his face away from Misha’s hand had resulted in his facing Misha.  Misha leaned forward and kissed him.

            Jensen didn’t resist.  His eyes closed, the long lashes damp as the first of his tears trickled down his cheeks.  “I can’t do this, Misha!  All I can think about is you!”

            “I’m here, Jensen.  I’m here.”

            Kiss him.  Kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. With every kiss, more and more tension eases from his body.  Now he’s leaning into you, returning your kisses.  Now his hands slide up your chest and gently take your shoulders, pulling you close to deepen the kisses.  His lips open.  “Please!”

            Misha wrapped his arms around Jensen, crushed him against his chest, his tongue exploring every inch of Jensen’s mouth. The younger man was soft and pliant in his arms, letting Misha handle him, letting Misha care for him, reverting back to his familiar role.  Misha pushed him back, down onto the bed.  He climbed up to straddle Jensen, pulling off his shirt as he went.  Then he slid his hands under Jensen’s shirt and pulled it off as well.  Jensen’s hands were tugging at Misha’s belt.  Misha grabbed them, pinned them down.  Oh no.  They were taking this slow.

            Jensen didn’t care to be thwarted.  “No, don’t!” he protested, straining to reach Misha’s belt again.  “Let go of me!”

            “Not a chance!” Misha growled into his neck as Jensen playfully twisted his face away.  He ground his erection against Jensen’s body, making him gasp.  “You’re mine!”

            “Oh, you BASTARD!”

            It was a high, feminine shriek, and it had come from the door.  Misha’s head snapped up, saw Danneel standing in the doorway, her face etched in fury. Misha had never heard the soft beep as she’d unlocked the door.  Now she was there, staring at them as they froze in horror, Misha pinning Jensen down on the bed and both of them partially unclothed.  Dropping her purse and her hotel key, she charged at them. “Get off of him, you sick freak!”

            It was instinct.  Misha saw her charging towards Jensen with murder in her eyes and he simply reacted.  He let go of Jensen and swung with all his strength.  His fist impacted with her jaw.  Her eyes rolled back in her head.  She tumbled bonelessly to the floor.

            His initial reaction was joy.  He’d done it.  He’d protected Jensen, kept her from hurting his beautiful lover again.  Even though he hadn’t intended to strike her, and certainly not as hard as he had, the fact it had happened was unquestionably satisfying.

            But Jensen cried out and struggled out from under him to go to his wife.  “Danneel? Danneel!  Shit, Misha, call an ambulance!”

            Misha’s head still hadn’t caught up with what had just happened.  An ambulance? But Jensen was fine!  Then Misha looked again, saw the unconscious woman and the large bruise developing on her jaw and knew that everything had just gotten so much worse.

            And it was.

            Misha was detained at the hotel by security and later the police while Jensen accompanied his wife to the hospital. Danneel woke up quickly, but had an obvious concussion and was taken away in an ambulance.  Eventually, the police left and Misha was told that Danneel wasn’t going to press charges providing he keep his distance from both her and Jensen.  That made no sense.  They were due on set tomorrow, filming a scene together.  But that morning Misha got a call that the schedule had been changed, and Misha wouldn’t be needed that day.

            He spoke to lawyers instead.  They took over one of the hotel’s conference rooms, three of them waiting at a table with stern expessions when Misha entered. Please sit down.  They informed him that the meeting was off the record at this point, but several things needed to be made very clear.  Mrs. Ackles was refraining from filing assault charges in the interest of protecting her husband’s career.  Mr. Ackles would also refrain from filing charges.  In exchange, Misha would resign from the show. He would film what scenes had to be done in order to facilitate his exit from the show as quickly as possible, in the interest of shortening his time around Mr. and Mrs. Aclkes.  Then he would make a quiet exit.  A restraining order was being filed against Misha.  He would do no further photo ops or panels with Mr. Ackles at conventions.  He would not be in the same hotel or building as Mr. or Mrs. Ackles ever again once the scenes were finished.  Misha would never assault either of them again, and if he came within 50 feet of them he would be arrested for violation of the restraining order.  Any attempt to contact them, directly or indirectly, would also violate the restraining order and result in charges and lawsuits being filed.

            It took some questioning, but eventually Misha figured it out.  Danneel had come back to her hotel room unexpectedly when her shoot was postponed due to problems on her set.  She’d opened the door and found her husband, lying on the bed in a room with the furniture in disarray and Misha on top of him in an obvious state of arousal, pinning him down.  She’d seen Jensen struggling, heard him cry out to be let go, heard Misha’s reply and saw him grinding against Jensen.  And she’d assumed the absolute worst.  Misha’s subsequent attack on her had only made it worse.  Now everyone believed that Danneel had walked in on Misha assaulting Jensen, and had struck Danneel when she’d tried to help.  Now these lawyers were here, representing Danneel and Jensen and the studio, to try to minimize the damage and preserve the integrity and reputation of all parties involved, Misha included.  Surely Misha understood.  No one wanted the police involved any further than they already were, and non-disclosure agreements had already been signed to protect everyone’s privacy.  This was the final step.

            After a great deal of arguing, threatening, and questioning, Misha was finally able to get the lawyers to admit that Jensen had denied Misha had attacked him, but couldn’t offer any other explanation for what had actually happened.  His continued protests that it “wasn’t how it looked” led Danneel and the lawyers to believe Jensen was trying to protect Misha out of a misguided sense of loyalty to his friend and costar.  But neither he nor Misha could tell the truth.  That meant Misha had absolutely no way to defend himself.

            They pushed a pre-typed letter of resignation in front of Misha.  It was Misha’s agreement to finish up what scenes remained in as few shooting days as possible, in the interest of limiting his time with Mr. Ackles.  In a few days, all of his scenes would be shot. Then, except for some possible post-production work later, Misha would no longer be part of the Supernatural cast, nor would he have any further contracts with the studio, affiliates, or parent company.  His career would be effectively over.  Please sign.

            Misha signed.  I love you, Jensen.  Don’t worry. None of this is real.  It’s not real, and somehow, I can fix it.

            Misha believed that until he came onto the set and saw Jared standing with a familiar woman and three children.  “Hey, Misha,” Jared called, smiling weakly.  “You remember my wife, Genevieve, and my kids?  They came out to visit me on set!”


	16. Unreality

            Jared looked happier than Misha had seen him in some time.  Even though they were no longer married, Genevieve was good to Jared, scolding him for not taking better care of himself and making sure he took his meds.  Misha was grateful.  Still, he didn’t quite understand the way she seemed somehow nervous when Misha was near. She hovered near Jared, casually taking her ex-husband’s hand or arm.  And she watched Misha like a hawk.

            She wasn’t alone.  There seemed to be extra people all over, watching Misha as he walked through the set. One of the producers approached him with the director, neither of them looking friendly.  “We’re doing the scene with the car tomorrow,” Misha was informed. “The one where Castiel drives the Impala.”

            “Um, I don’t know if I can, after...”

            “We’re doing it, Misha.  If you’re tough enough to assault your coworkers and knock women around, you can sit behind the wheel of the Impala and act without going into a panic attack! The scene’s now essential to how we’re killing off Castiel anyway, so it’s happening.  You got today and tonight to prepare.  Suck it up.”

            Then they’d both turned and walked away, leaving Misha blinking in surprise and feeling confused as hell.  Obviously, they’d heard some mangled version of what had happened.  But Misha had been told by the lawyers that there were non-disclosure agreements in effect.  How had they heard?  What they’d said to him had come as a surprise for many reasons.  He hadn’t read the script yet, but obviously his resignation meant they’d have to find a way to write him off the show.  Misha had thought they might arrange for Castiel to take a different vessel and had planned to suggest casting a female in the role, one that might even end up as a love interest for Dean.  But it seemed no one was interested in his opinion. He’d never been spoken to in such a manner by anyone on set before.  It felt like a slap in the face.  But looking around, Misha saw nothing but hard faces and dark looks.  One of the grips even ran into him as he continued on, the grip not saying a word or even glancing in his direction as Misha stammered an apology.  What was going on?

            Jared finally got a chance to talk to Misha alone between takes and explain. “It’s Danneel,” he said.  “She’s been all around the studio here, showing off that bruise you gave her.  Hell of a shot, by the way.”

            “Don’t even joke about that, Jared.  I’ve never hit a woman before in my life, and I didn’t intend to hit her. It was just instinct when I saw her coming at Jensen!”

            “I get it.  But I’m pretty much the only one who does.  Everyone else has been listening to Danneel.”

            “But the non-disclosure agreement...?”

            “She apparently never had to sign it, Misha, because she’s the supposed victim in all this!  So she made sure to have a tearful talk with some of the chattier stage hands, who then went around and ‘warned’ everyone on set what a predator you are.  Apparently, she’s been telling them that she walked in on you assaulting Jensen.  The way it was described to me, you were about ready to rape him!  Now she’s got everyone up in arms.  Honestly, I hope everyone here is appreciating my acting skills today, because I can’t remember ever wanting so badly to punch Jensen.”

            Misha groaned and buried his face in his hands.  “So that’s why everyone’s looking at me like I’m a monster.  They all think I am one!”

            “It’s unbelievable, Misha.  But she’s got that huge bruise, and that kind of backs up her story about why you really resigned.  Then there’s the reaction of the studio here.  Did you notice all these extra people on set?  Yeah, they’re extra security.  Danneel hinted that you might want revenge, might hurt someone because you got caught or go after Jensen again, so the studio brought them in.  And she’s been milking that for all it’s worth.  She basically told everyone you’ve been after Jensen for years and finally saw your chance.  In fact, there’s a rumor going around that Jensen wasn’t mugged at all, but you’d attacked him!”

            “I attacked him?!”

            “You were out there with him in the middle of the night, miles away from everyone. And you know Jensen never really described his attacker...”

            “Because he can’t!”

            “Or, because he’s trying to protect someone.  Someone he cares about.”

            “Yeah, his wife!”

            “Or you.”

            Misha sputtered.  “This is such bullshit!”

            “I know, Misha, I know!  I just had to sit through Genevieve awkwardly trying to ask me if you’d ever hurt me or done anything that made me uncomfortable or touched me in my no no place or otherwise got all Chester the Molester and offered me candy to get in your pedovan.  It’s insane! And I’m not putting up with it, Misha. Jensen’s made his own decision, but I refuse to let my wife think that my best friend hurt my other best friend!  I don’t dare do it on set because I can guess how that will turn out with Danneel right here and Genevieve’s temper.  But as soon as we’re alone and away from Danneel, I’m telling Gen everything.  I refuse to let this get in the way of our friendship.  Jensen may have just burned his last bridge with me!”

            “Jared, Jensen is in an abusive relationship.  He’s the only one who can end it, but he is the victim!  You can’t blame the victim for abuse when he’s being controlled and manipulated!”

            “That’s not why I’m upset.  You want to know why I’m upset, Misha?  I’m upset because now it’s about more than just him.  This lie he’s living in is costing you your job, your career, and your reputation!  Misha, what’s going to happen with your charity work now?  Too many people have heard that you assaulted your co-worker and hit a woman, and that rumor that you’re the one who beat up Jensen is spreading fast!  What charity is going to want support from you now?  Stands already called me, Misha, politely asking if I might be interested in doing some of the work I know you were planning to do for them. Even Random Acts is going to end up asking you to step down!  You’re not even going to be able to do GISH once this gets out!”

            “Oh.”  Misha hadn’t thought of that.  The idea that all of his charity work and the good he’d done through his scavenger hunt could be undone made him feel cold.  He shook his head.  “Doesn’t matter.  It’s not real anyway.”

            “Misha, you cannot think like that, ok?  I know what I said, and there’s a huge part of me, the bigger part to be honest, that still believes it.  But my kids and my ex-wife came to see me today!  My kids!  All my life, I have wanted to be a father, Misha.  That is the single most important thing in my life, so I don’t understand what I was thinking!  How the hell could I ever think that my babies weren’t real?!”  Jared’s head was shaking rapidly in his agitation.  “I’m not well.  I know I’ve suffered from depression, but now I’m starting to think it’s a bit more than that.  This shit with Jensen, whatever keeps happening to you that you’re passing out, and let’s not even talk about the Winchesters!  And I haven’t been taking my meds for weeks!  Is it any wonder I’m starting to lose contact with reality?”

            “Jared?”

            “Just listen, ok?  Which theory sounds more realistic?  That I’m dead and the world I live in isn’t real and I’m dating a woman who’s been dead for years before I was born and my co-worker on a television show brought us both back with his godlike powers?  Or that my brain chemistry is worse than I thought, and by not taking my meds, I actually triggered a psychosis that, because of whatever is happening that makes you keep passing out, I passed on to you?  That’s possible, you know!  There’s even a name for it, it’s called folie à deux!  It’s a documented condition, Misha!”

            “How do you explain riding on Sam’s bike, or me coming here in Dean’s jet? Did the entire production set start joining in our hallucinations?  Because everyone here saw them, Jared!  We had a big red motorcycle and a modified fighter jet right out there in the parking lot!”

            “Both of which have vanished with no trace!  I can’t explain it, but there’s surely a better explanation than a dead Korean vet and a female motorcycle gangster who died in the sixties!”

            “Ok, let’s hear it!  Jared, you’re the one who drove up from Texas with that same gangster!  You are the one who heard, straight from Sam, that she’s dead. And I heard the same thing from Dean! Those are pretty specific and detailed shared hallucinations we’ve got going on!”

            Jared breathed through his nose.  “Misha, I cannot explain it, and that is precisely my point, alright?  Things are not making sense to us because our delusions are clashing with reality!  I actually had myself convinced that Gen and the kids weren’t real!  Half the reason Gen came out here is because I went for a week without calling or texting to ask about them.  That’s fucked up, Misha!  I need help, and I’m getting it.  I start outpatient treatment tomorrow, and we’ll be discussing inpatient treatment with med adjustment once we go on hiatus.  Maybe you should, too.  But in the meantime, you need to at least consider the possibility that this, the world we’re in, is actually real after all!  And in this world, the real world?  Jensen just betrayed you in the worst possible way!”

            “Here in the real world, Jensen did not betray me.  He said I didn’t attack him.  It’s not his fault no one believes him.”

            “Because he didn’t say who really did attack him!  If he told the real story, then you wouldn’t be walking around feeling like a pariah on this set!  By protecting Danneel, he’s throwing you under the bus!”

            “No I’m not.”

            Misha turned, saw Jensen standing near, and froze.  Jensen irritably waved away the hovering bodyguards and came closer.  “Misha, I didn’t know the lawyers talked to you.  I didn’t know about the restraining order, and I sure as hell didn’t know you’d been forced to resign!  I’ve been going around all day with people pulling me aside, asking if I’m alright and basically threatening to kick your ass if you came near me.  I couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on!  Then I asked why we were jamming all of your scenes together the next couple of days and that’s how I found out you’d resigned!  But you’ve got to believe me when I tell you I had nothing to do with it.  I told the police that it was just a misunderstanding and I thought that was the end of it!  No one ever talked to me about any of this other shit!  Danneel kept blowing me off but I finally demanded she tell me what had happened, and she did.”  He reached for Misha’s arm.  “You should have called me!”

            Misha stepped back out of his reach.  “And told you what?”

            Jared snorted.  “You could have started with ‘Jensen, your lies to protect your abusive wife have now cost me my job, my career, my reputation, and our friendship!’  That seems like a good start.”

            “Dammit, Jared!”

            “No, Jared, you’re right.”  Jensen couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.  He stared hard at the ground.  “I don’t understand why she’s doing this.  I told her it was a misunderstanding, that Misha and I were just playing around, but she won’t believe me.  She says it’s wonderful that I’m trying to protect my friend, but she knows what she saw. The room was a wreck and I was struggling to get away, and Misha very clearly had an erection while he was holding me down.  She keeps saying that if she hadn’t come back when she had, Misha might have raped me. Misha, raping me!”  He scoffed.  “Even if he could have physically managed that, Misha wouldn’t hurt a fly.  She should know that!  But man, the timing of that, how she walked in just when I was yelling at him to let me go and he was being all sexy and possessive?  It’s a good thing Misha was sitting on top of me when she came in, and she couldn’t see I was every bit as hard!”

            “No, Jensen, that is not a good thing!” Jared hissed.  “And damn you for lying!  Don’t you even see the irony here, Jensen?  The person you’ve been lying about all this time to protect is now accusing you of lying to protect Misha.  And the sad part is, she’s right, at least about you lying!  You’ve been lying for years, Jensen!  You had the perfect chance to come clean, tell her the truth about what’s going on between the two of you, and you let it pass you by! As to why she’s doing this, I can tell you that, too!”  He reached out and gently took Jensen’s arm.  “I did some research on domestic violence.  The one thing the abuser wants more than anything is control of their victim. She’s already got you lying for her, making excuses for how she hurts you.  Now she’s tying you to her even tighter by separating you from Misha!  Everything she’s done to destroy him is about you.  It’s all about controlling you!”

            “She’s not trying to control me!”

            “Yes, she is!  That’s why she’s cutting away your support system, trying to eliminate any threat to her control over you.  She’s following you to work, constantly watching you or having these bodyguards watch you, all because she’s actively trying to separate you from Misha. Because she knows, Jen!  She knows that Misha is the biggest threat to her, alright?”  Jared shook his head.  “I’m not well, Jensen.  Most people find out you have any type of mental illness, and they automatically assume you’re crazy and not trustworthy.  She knows that, so I’m easy to discredit.  So while I expect that will soon change and she’ll go after me as well, right now she doesn’t view me as much of a threat.  But Misha?  Misha’s outspoken, he’s a crusader, and most of all, he has your respect.  Whatever she saw the two of you doing, she knows full well that Misha wasn’t trying to rape you.  That means she’s figured out that there’s something between the two of you! And that is why she’s trying to destroy Misha, why she’s doing everything she can now to discredit him and drive him away from you!  And Jensen? You are letting her do it!  You’re standing back and letting her destroy your best friend!”

            Jensen’s jaw worked.  He looked up, met Jared’s eyes, and turned to Misha.  “I won’t let her hurt you,” he said.  “I’ve already contacted the producers and Kripke, told them nothing happened and letting you go would be a mistake.  And I contacted our lawyers, told them not to go through with the restraining order.  I’ll contact your charities as well.  I’ll pick up the director’s megaphone and announce it if I have to, but I won’t let her hurt you, Misha.  Not you!”

            Misha didn’t respond, but Jared shook his head.  “It’s not enough, Jensen.  You still won’t tell people the truth!  Danneel’s still going to claim you’re doing it to protect Misha, or that you’re afraid of him.  And no matter what either of you say, as long as you keep lying, Misha’s going to be crucified in the court of public opinion!  And in this business?  That’s the only one that matters!  You keep saying Danneel’s your whole world, Jensen, but your world has no right to destroy Misha’s.  And if you can’t see that?  If you let this happen to Misha?  Then you and I are through!”  He turned and stormed away, waving off the concerned people looking after him.

            Now it was just Jensen and Misha.  Jensen took Misha’s arm and made his way to Misha’s trailer, pulling Misha along after him.  A bodyguard blocked the way.  His eyes were hard as he looked at Misha.  “Mr. Ackles, I need to advise you against this.”

            “I’m a grown man.  I’m fine. Please respect my privacy, ok?”

            “But Mr. Ackles...”

            “He won’t attack me!  He never did, now leave me alone!”

            The bodyguard reluctantly backed off, but hovered near.  Misha found himself pulled into his own trailer, the door locked. Good.  They needed to talk.  But the next thing he knew, he was shoved down onto the bed, Jensen on top of him, kissing him fiercely.  “No, stop!” he called, twisting his face away and pushing at the younger man.  “Get off of me, Jensen.  We need to talk.”

            “To hell with talking!  I already stopped all the shit the lawyers were doing to you, alright?”

            “And yet that bodyguard just now was ready to knock my head off, even though you were the one dragging me!  It seems that my current situation is not quite as rosy as you believe it to be.”

            “I’ll fix it.  We’ll work this out, Misha.  It’s gonna be alright!”  He kissed Misha again.  “I need you!”

            “When it suits you!”  He pushed at Jensen again.  “Get off!”

            Jensen didn’t let him up, but he did sit up, looking down at Misha with sorrowful green eyes.  “I’m sorry, Misha.  But don’t worry.  It’s going to be alright.  I won’t let this ruin you!”

            “This?  Has already ruined me, Jensen!  When you tried to break up with me, you told me that you never used me.  But all you do is use me!  No,” he called when Jensen tried to speak.  “You do, Jen.  You play the dutiful husband until no one can see us, and then you’re all over me!  You fuck me like you mean it, but then you just leave me like I’m just a cheap whore!  You won’t even spend the night with me, Jensen, because you’re so afraid someone might find out!  You lie to everyone except Jared that you were ever with me.  And I’m just supposed to deal with it?!”

            “I’m sorry, Misha!  I don’t know what to say!”

            “Say that you’re making a choice and then stick to it!  Stop playing with my emotions and jerking me around.  If you want to be with me, then be with me, but otherwise let me go!”

            “I can’t!”  Jensen had Misha’s shoulders now, leaning over him.  He looked slightly wild-eyed.  “I tried, dammit, I tried!  I told myself that I could just be a good husband and father and we could be friends, but I can’t!  You’re all I think about.  Look at you, lying there, all blue eyes and flushed face, so pissed off at me and I can’t blame you, but you’re so damned beautiful, Misha!”

            “I’m beautiful?  He says I’m beautiful.  You know, the first time you let me have you, I was sure I was dreaming.  I could not imagine that any man this gorgeous, this special and amazing, would ever want to be with me.  I thought surely the other shoe would drop, and I’d find out it was all just some sort of elaborate prank.  I should have gone with my gut back then.”

            “No, Misha, don’t talk like that!  I’m the one who should be honored that you ever wanted to be with me.”  He kissed Misha again.

            Misha shoved at him.  “Get off of me!  Let me go!”

            “I can’t, that’s what I’m telling you!  I can’t do it, Mish, I can’t let you go.  I can’t just walk away from you!  I need you too much!”

            “Then what the hell do you want me to do?!” Misha yelled, ignoring the pounding on the door and shouts from outside. “I love you, Jensen, and I’d do anything for you, but you can’t keep jerking me around!”

            “What?!”

            “I can’t do this, alright?  The lying and sneaking around?  I feel like a dirty little secret that you’re ashamed of!”

            “No, wait, back up.  Misha, did you just tell me that you love me?”  Wide green eyes, staring down at him in surprise.  “Do you?  Do you really love me, Misha?  Is that why you stay?”

            Fuck it.  What did it matter now?  “Yes, I do. I do, and that is why I can’t keep doing this!  Look at you! You’re miserable!  Were you thinking about pills or jumping in front of a train?”

            Jensen blinked in surprise.  “How did you know that?”

            “Never mind how I know.  Just know that it’s pretty clear proof that you’re miserable!  You cannot decide not to be gay and just have it happen, Jensen. It does not work like that.”

            “You think I don’t know that?  You think I don’t know that I’m in love with you, that I haven’t known that for years now?”

            Misha gasped.  “You love me?”

            “How the hell could you not know that?!  Misha, I tried to walk away from you, and my life was so empty without you that I was seriously thinking about ending it!  I cannot live without you!”

            “Then what the hell are you trying to prove?!  Why do you stay with her?”

            Jensen squeezed his eyes tightly shut and grimaced.  “She’s my whole world, Misha.”

            Misha had long ago passed his limit.  “I am so sick of hearing that!  Yes, she’s the mother of your children, but you said yourself your kids are acting up. You think they can’t sense that something’s wrong, how much stress you’re in?  Do you think it’s healthy for them to grow up in a house where their mom beats on their dad and their dad is seriously thinking about suicide?  And what about me?  I can’t keep doing this!  You need to make a choice.”

            “I am!  I want to be with you, but I can’t just yet.”

            “Dammit, Jensen!”

            “We’ll be together soon, ok?  Just wait for me a little while longer, until I get things straightened out.”

            “Bullshit!”  Misha shoved at Jensen and tried to pry the hands off of his shoulders.  “Let me up!”

            Jensen only narrowed his eyes and caught Misha’s hands, pressing them against Misha’s chest to hold him in place.  “No!  I’m not letting you up until you tell me that you’ll give me a chance to make things right!”

            “You son of a bitch!”  Jensen was bigger, stronger, and had the advantage of gravity, his weight pressing Misha in place.  At least this time it wasn’t triggering a flashback, but Misha was furious all the same. “Get off of me!  Get off!”

            “Jensen!”  Danneel charged into the trailer, trailed by multiple angry-looking people.  Everyone froze in surprise, staring at the two men.

            Misha rolled his eyes.  “Hi, Danneel! We really must stop meeting like this. You going to go around telling everyone he’s trying to rape me this time?”

            “How did you get in here?” Jensen asked.  “This is Misha’s trailer!  You don’t have the key!”

            “She obviously took it from your ring and copied it,” Misha said.  “Get off me.”

            “Misha, get out!”

            “Danneel, it’s his trailer!”

            “Yes, it is my trailer.  Everyone get out except Jensen.  Jensen, would you please let me up?”

            “We heard a lot of yelling,” one of the confused security said.

            “Jensen and I are fine.  We were just having a little talk.”

            “There was yelling!”

            “Well, it was a loud talk!  We’re good, thank you.  Now go away, and Danneel, leave the key to my trailer.  That’s pretty pathetic, that you copied the keys on your husband’s key ring.”

            “Nobody asked you, Misha!”

            “It’s his trailer!”

            “You’re my husband!”

            “Not for much longer if you keep this shit up!” Jensen yelled, finally getting off of Misha.  “Misha, I just need to talk to you for a few minutes, alright?  Danneel, leave Misha’s key here, and go to my trailer.  As soon as I’m finished, I’ll come over and we’ll talk. Ok?”

            Danneel angrily pulled the key off of her ring, threw it at Misha, and stormed out.  The security people went with them, and for a moment, Misha was alone with Jensen again.

            Misha sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his folded hands.  “Are you going to tell her?”

            “I’m going to tell her something.  I’m just not sure what.”

            “Then you’re telling me goodbye.  I never wanted to be that guy, the one who gives the ‘if you love me you’ll do this’ speech?  But I cannot do this anymore.  Not now, not after I told you how I feel about you.  And if you told me the truth, and you really do love me?  Then it’s time to make a choice.  Because if you go back to her, we’re done, Jensen.  I love you, but I won’t let you use me any longer.”

            Misha stared at his hands, not daring to look up.  But Jensen’s hands gently wrapped over them.  “Alright.”

            Misha looked up sharply.

            “You’re right.  You and Jared are both right.  If it was just me she was hurting, I’d probably put up with it until she killed me.” The matter of fact way he said that made Misha suck in his breath.  “But I can’t stand by and let her hurt you.  I’m asking her for a divorce, and I’m going to threaten to file charges against her for assaulting me unless she agrees to ditch the prenup and let our lawyers hammer out a more reasonable agreement.  I really don’t care about the money or the house, but I want to be able to spend time with my kids.  That’s all I want.”  He paused. “Of course, she doesn’t have to know that, does she?”

            Misha laughed.  “You sneaky bastard!  I love it!”

            “I love you.”  Jensen was suddenly on his knees in front of Misha.  He cupped Misha’s face in both of his hands, pulling him in for a kiss. Then he paused, holding Misha’s head so that their foreheads were pressed together.  “I love you, Misha.  And I’m sorry.  I really have been treating you like a cheap whore, haven’t I?”

            “You have.  I happen to think I’d be a fairly expensive whore.”

            “You do give fantastic head.”

            “Keep talking like that and I’ll start charging for my services.”

            “Deal.”  He paused and took Misha’s hands.  His face was pale.  “Misha, when this all comes out, everything’s going to go to shit.  I love you, and I don’t care anymore.  But the lawyers are going to smear us both.  I know Vickie will probably give you an uncontested divorce because you two always had a weird marriage, but you’re going to get painted as the, well, the homewrecker.  This could ruin both of our careers and reputations.”

            “I don’t care.  I don’t care about anything.  The only thing I want is you.”

            Jensen looked up hopefully.  “You’ll stay with me?”

            “For as long as you’ll have me.”

            Jensen smiled.  He rose and leaned forward into a kiss. Misha kissed him back.  It felt like the first time.  He knew he was blushing as he leaned forward, his forehead pressed against Jensen’s and his eyes closed.  “I’ll tell her now,” Jensen was vowing.  “I’ll end this.  And then I’ll come to you.  I’ll crawl into your bed tonight, and we’ll make love, and I’ll show you how much I love you, Misha.  We’ll be together.  And I will never leave you for anyone else ever again.  Alright?”

            Misha could only nod.  His heart was simply too full to speak.


	17. Accident

            “Wait, he’s telling her now?”

            “Right now!”

            Misha had expected Jared to be surprised, and he was.  He’d expected Jared to be excited, and he was.  But he didn’t expect Jared to go bolting off the set where they were about to shoot, running as fast as he could.

            The director was demanding to know what was happening, but Misha couldn’t tell him.  He spotted Genevieve and approached her.

            Her eyes narrowed.  “What do you want, Misha?”

            Of course.  Jared hadn’t told her yet.  He was planning to wait until they were off the set, in order to prevent a fight.  Misha raised his hands.  “I come in peace!  Listen, Jared just ran off the set.  Is everything alright?”

            She stiffened.  “What did you do to him?  You know, Misha, I cannot believe that I trusted you!  And I’ll have you know that you’re not getting away with what you did to poor Jensen, especially not if you’re the one who beat him up like that before!  You better watch your ass, mister!  Danneel’s ready to deal with you!”

            Misha sighed and was about to walk away and try to find Jared.  But then he paused.  “Wait.  What do you mean, Danneel’s ready to deal with me?”

            “She was talking about how scared she was that you’d go after her or Jensen again, so I gave her my little pistol.  You ever hurt Jensen again, and...!”

            Coldness, a yawning gulf in the pit of his stomach.  “Does Jared know?  Does Jared know she’s got your pistol?!”

            “Yes, I told him about an hour ago.  He was really pissed off about it, but that doesn’t explain why...”

            Misha started running, racing as fast as he could towards Jensen’s trailer.  Jensen was in there now, asking Danneel for a divorce and threatening to report her for assaulting him if she didn’t comply.  Victims of domestic violence were never in more danger than when they finally tried to leave their abuser, tried to throw off the control their abuser had over them.  Misha never should have let Jensen face Danneel alone.  She was desperate.  She was violent.  And now she was armed.

            Too late.

            Ironic.  The entire studio lot was crawling with extra security, there specifically to protect Jensen. And yet not a single one was anywhere near Jensen when the real danger came.  It was a blur, the sound of shots, the screams, people rushing around and shouting.  Misha saw the open door of Jensen’s trailer, heard another shot, saw something fall. No.  No.  He ran for the door, nearly slamming into the security guards who had already charged inside, who had a screeching, hysterical Danneel on the ground and her weapon confiscated.  Misha barely saw them as he forced his way into the trailer.  Jared was groaning on the floor, his hands clasped over the bloody hole in his chest.  And Jensen, Jensen was lying face-down.  He was still. Too still.  The image was so familiar.  He’d seen this before, Jensen face-down in a puddle of water, not moving.  But the liquid that pooled beneath Jensen now wasn’t water.

            Misha was dragged out, thrown on the ground and nearly assaulted before anyone was able to explain that he hadn’t been the shooter.  But no one would let him back in.  Security was dragging everyone back, making room for the medical team and, in a surprisingly short amount of time, the paramedics.  Misha, held back, caught a glimpse of Jared’s pale face under an oxygen mask as he was brought out on a gurney and loaded in an ambulance.  He saw Danneel taken out by police.  But Jensen didn’t come out.

            Jensen never came out until the coroner’s van arrived.

            Nightmare.  Someone brought Misha to the hospital, apparently realizing that maybe Misha hadn’t been the real bad guy after all.  Most of the cast and crew was mobbing the waiting room, waiting for news. But when Genevieve appeared, Misha knew before she even spoke that the news wasn’t good.  Jared had come out of surgery, but there was too much damage, he’d lost too much blood.  His brain had been deprived of oxygen for too long.  Now Jared was in a coma.  Jared wasn’t waking up.  There was no brain activity on the monitors.  The doctors were advising her to contact the family, make a decision. Jared would never wake up again. And Misha knew his living will said that Jared didn’t want to go on like this.  Misha had signed it as a witness, along with Jensen.  They’d all done theirs together.  As soon as the family arrived, they would take Jared off the respirator.  There was nothing more that could be done.  Thank you all for your support, it means a lot.  But please go.  Now was the time for family.

            Misha didn’t remember the trip back to the studio.  The guards let him in without questioning.  He walked the deserted set, the sound of his footsteps loud and echoing.  He was still in Castiel’s suit and trench coat.  And it was Castiel who was on his mind.  He clenched his fists at his sides, turning his tear-streaked face towards the sky. “Castiel, you son of a bitch!” he yelled.  “How could you let Jensen die?  You were supposed to be watching out for him!  And Sam, why weren’t you with Jared?  Why did you leave him alone?  How the hell could you let this happen?!  You said I’m the one who got the three of you killed, my fault, my sin!  So why did they have to die?  Why them, instead of me?  Why? Tell me why!”

            His voice seemed unnaturally loud in the empty sets, but other than this, there was no response.  He reached into the pocket of his trench coat with a shaking hand and pulled out his phone. He’d put the picture of himself from the photo op up as his lock screen, a constant reminder.  It was there.  There he was, the impossible wings rising from his back.  It was real.  It had happened.  The pilot Dean Winchester, the biker Sam Winchester, and the dancer Castiel were real. And they’d come here, all three of them, to the set?  Why? What had they said?  Things were coming to a head, and it had to do with the script.  That scene, Castiel driving the brothers in the Impala.  But he couldn’t do that scene.  Because the last time Misha had driven with Jared and Jensen...

            What difference did it make now?

            Misha stood in the dim light, breathing hard.  Jensen dead, Jared dying.  That was so familiar.  Had it happened before?  How many times had it happened?  How many times had his choices, his decisions, brought them to this point? Was he trapped in a vicious cycle? Had he brought them back only to lose them over and over again?  It didn’t matter.  He didn’t care.  He just wanted them back.  Please. Please, bring them back.  I don’t want to go on without them.

            He turned, heading for the Impala set, and climbed in.  The interior of the Impala smelled like his friends.  It should.  How many hours had they spent here, in this partial car, designed so cameras could easily view the interior, microphones built in to pick up dialogue, green screen all around to look like they were driving through scenery?  He sat behind the wheel, closed his hands over it, and looked ahead.  The cameras looked back.  He stared at them for a time.  Then he got out and went to the garage.

            The Impalas were here, parked in a line in various degrees of use and damage. The shining, perfect hero car waited at the front.

            Misha picked a set of keys off of the pegboard and approached the hero car. “Dean moves to the driver’s door, but hesitates,” he recited.  “His eyes move towards Castiel.  Castiel looks back.  Dean throws the keys at Castiel, who catches them and looks up in surprise.”

            Misha looked at the keys in his hands, blinked, and looked up towards the empty space next to the car with a squint and a questioning gaze, tilting his head slightly to the side.  He’d done it so many times now it was instinct.

            “Dean smiles.  ‘I’m beat. Why don’t you get us back to the bunker?’  Sam blinks, looking from one to the other.”

            Misha could almost see them, Jensen as Dean, giving that smile and nod.  Jared as Sam, looking between them.  They’d both still been in costume when they’d been shot, possibly still were now.  He banished the thought from his mind.  “Castiel straightens.  ‘I’d be honored.’”

            Misha slipped into the role of Castiel as easily as he slipped into the trench coat, deepening his voice into the trademark rasp without thought.  He clutched the keys, moved to the driver’s seat where he nodded at an imaginary Dean, receiving another smile in return.  Then he climbed carefully into the seat.

            “Castiel starts the car.”  The Impala roared to life.  “He catches Sam’s eye in the rearview mirror.  Sam smiles and gives him a nod.  Then he glances to his right.”  He could almost see him, the cocky grin with just a touch of anxiety.  “Dean clears his throat.  ‘You will be careful, right, Cass?  This isn’t your pimpmobile!’  Castiel smiles.  He puts Baby into gear and starts driving.”

            The guys in the garage always kept the cars, especially the hero car, in perfect working order.  It rolled smoothly forward, driving through the deserted sets.

            They weren’t dead.  Misha knew that.  There wasn’t a doubt in his mind.  And when he saw the figure ahead in the archaic-looking white silk dress, standing near the studio gate next to the unconscious guards, he wasn’t even remotely surprised. Castiel was walking forward, the leather strings of silver bells on his wrists and ankles jingling as he moved. He gestured, and the gates opened. Castiel waved at Misha as he passed, the white silk dancing outfit flowing in the breeze.  It clung to Castiel’s body as he watched the car go past.  Misha waved back.

            “How did we get here?”

            “It’s alright, Jared,” Misha called, smiling in the rearview mirror at the confused figure in the back seat.  Then he glanced to his right, and his smile widened.  “Jensen, it’s good to see you, too.”

            Jensen looked slightly dazed.  His eyes flickered rapidly, taking in his surroundings as the Impala left the lot and moved out into the open road.

            Misha kept driving.  He had no idea where he was going, but it didn’t matter.  A horn sounded, and a blood red motorcycle roared past.  Even in the darkness, Misha could see the motorcycle was an antique, and in perfect condition.  The rider was dressed in riding gear straight out of the 60’s, with a red leather vest bearing the words BLOOD RIDERS.  She gave Misha the finger as she moved in front of him and he laughed. He sped up, following after the motorcycle’s receding tail light through the thick fog.  There was a roar, wind buffeted the Impala, and a jet flew overhead, flying dangerously low.  It wasn’t the modern black beauty Misha had gotten to fly in.  This was a vintage North American F-86 Sabre, swept-back wings and all. It vanished into the swirling mists. Misha had lost track of the red tail light of the motorcycle.  He’d never seen fog this thick.  Suddenly, he was lost in it.

            Thunder rumbled ominously overhead, and he sucked in his breath, tightening his grip on the wheel.  It wasn’t the wheel of the Impala.  It was a different car.  Misha was driving through fog and heavy rain.  The windshield wipers worked diligently to clear the water, their task a Sisyphean effort against the pouring rain.

            “All I’m saying is, you should keep your options open,” Jared was saying.

            “I’m getting married!” Jensen yelled.  “What the hell do you two have against Danneel anyway?”

            “We don’t have anything against her,” Misha heard himself saying.  “It’s just that we’re concerned.  I know you like this girl, Jensen, but she’s awfully controlling, don’t you think?  The way she flew off the handle about you talking to that waitress is just not a good sign!"

            “Yeah, well, Danneel’s always been the jealous type,” Jensen sighed.

            “And more than a little controlling!” Jared added.  “Honestly, Jensen, I cannot believe that she gave you a curfew for spending time out with us tonight!  And what’s she gonna do if you don’t meet it?  Slap you around and spank you?”

            Jensen shrugged.  “Maybe.”

            Misha frowned, glancing over at his friend. But he didn’t press the issue.  “You have to admit, that’s a little overboard, giving your fiancée a curfew.  She’s this jealous and controlling now, what’s going to happen later?  Marriage is a big step, Jensen.”

            “You’re married, and it works out just fine for you, Misha!”

            “Yes, but my marriage is unconventional and everyone knows it.  We see other people, we have no prenup...”

            “Honestly, that prenup is what worries me the most,” Jared said.  “I know that right now, no one knows for sure if the show’s gonna continue or not.  And even if it gets picked up for another season, nothing lasts forever. We’ve all been in the business long enough to know that!  But right now, Jensen, you are the one with a steady job and she’s still knocking on doors. Why would you agree to give her so much?”

            Jared didn’t know about Jensen and Misha.  He had no way to know that Jensen had done what he’d done, proposed to Danneel, out of guilt, knowing that he could never really love her.  Even right before he’d met with his future wife and the lawyer, Jensen had been with Misha.  Their lovemaking had been frantic, Jensen holding so tightly to his lover’s arms he’d probably left bruises, swearing over and over that they could still have this, that he could still be with Misha, but Misha had to understand that Jensen needed to appear to be a heterosexual male, with a stable relationship.  Misha knew how it was in this business more than anyone.  Why else would he be working as Misha Collins, rather than Dmitri Krushnic?  Even Misha had something to hide.

            Misha’s heart was pounding.  He heard the engine racing as he looked at Jensen and saw his lover look at him and then guiltily look away.  The mile marker flashed past, barely visible in the darkness, the rain and the fog.  No.  Take your foot off the gas, Misha.  Reach over and fasten the seatbelt that Jensen, arguing from before they even got into the car, had neglected to fasten.  Don’t do this again.  You know what’s ahead.  Slow down. Please, don’t let it happen, they were back now, don’t do this again!

            The grip of fate seemed unbeatable.  Misha tried desperately to break free even as he heard the same pointless arguments coming out of his mouth, saw his knuckles whiten as he clutched at the wheel, barely paying attention to the road, not realizing how fast he was going.  And then suddenly, up ahead, the road just wasn’t there anymore.  Once again, he’d missed the curve.

            Time was merciless and unstoppable, but sometimes, it slowed down.  It slowed down now, as the car went over the embankment and seemed to hover, flying through the air like Dean’s jet, like Sam’s motorcycle off a ramp, like Castiel leaping from the wing.  Sudden silence from all three inside as they realized they were about to crash.  That one moment of perfect clarity when he looked into Jensen’s eyes and saw love, real love, swimming in the sadness there.

            Then the car hit the ground.  The left front end caught and the car flipped, hurtling through the air in a diagonal.  It smashed through a small tree, the branches seeming to reach through the windows on the driver’s side to tear at Misha and bring a painful cry from the seat behind him. Then somehow they were upright again, still moving forward.  The car bounced once, crashing through brush, momentum carrying it forward until it came to an abrupt halt against a large boulder.  And Jensen was gone.  He’d been tumbling violently in the car and now he was flying forward, the windshield shattering in his wake as his body rolled to a stop.  He shifted once as he lay in the shallow puddle of water in the beam of the headlights.  Then he fell back into the water and was still.

            “Jensen?” Everything hurt.  The car rested on a slant, leaning towards the driver’s side. Steam poured from the engine compartment.  Half of the windshield was gone, the rain pouring in to soak Misha’s side.  The other side, protected by the roof, stung where the tree branches had torn at him.  The steering wheel had been shoved into him.  The air bag had gone off.  From behind him came a small whimper.  “Jared!” Misha tried to move, tried to get up and help his friends.  But he couldn’t.  The steering wheel had been shoved forward by the final impact with the boulder.  Now it held him in place.  Pain like an electric shock sprang from his lower back when he tried to free himself.  His head ached.  The world went dark.

            “Sammy, come on!  I can’t lose you both!  You opened your eyes a moment ago, do it again!”

            Jensen’s voice again, but not Jensen.  He blinked open his eyes and a blurry figure came into view, standing over him on his right side.  Anxious green eyes peering down at him.  “Finally! Please be able to hear me, Sammy, you gotta snap out of this!”

            A room, dark despite the presence of a lamp being on.  The lamp stood on a table next to him, behind the figure speaking to him.  And behind the lamp was a bed with another man lying on it.  A head of dark hair resting on the pillow.  One arm dangling over the side of the bed.  The cuff of a suit covered a wrist that protruded from the sleeve of a familiar tan trench coat.

          The world swam.

            Flashing lights.  Rain, falling in a torrent, the sound of it on the roof nearly as loud as the thunder. “Mr. Krushnic, can you open your eyes for us, please?”

            Paramedic, savior of the accident victim.  Didn’t matter.  Misha knew what was coming, what had happened.  He didn’t want to be here.  He wanted to go back.

            Red and blue lights flashing off of a silver badge.  A police officer.  Rain dripped from the brim of his hat.  “What have we got?”

            “He’s responding, but maybe not much longer.  We gotta get him out now.”

            “He got an ID?”

            “Dmitri Krushnic.  Mr. Krushnic, you’ve been in a very serious accident.  You’ve been badly injured.  We’re going to have to remove part of your vehicle and cut away the steering wheel to get you out.  It’s not going to feel good, but you need to try to hold as still as possible.”

            It was happening again.  Agonizing pain as he was freed from the car.  The ambulance.  The hospital. A hand clutching his.  He opened his eyes and saw Vickie.  Of course.  Vickie would tell him the news, tell him that Jensen was dead and Jared would soon follow. Just get it over with.  His tongue licked at chapped lips.  “Where’s Jensen?”

            Vickie’s face was drawn, pinched with worry.  But now she frowned.  “Jensen?” she asked, sounding confused.  “Dmitri, who’s Jensen?”


	18. Dmitri

            Post-traumatic stress syndrome.  That was what they were calling it.  Delusions induced by the trauma of his accident, the damage he’d sustained to his head.  It matched the damage he’d sustained to his spine.  For both injuries, he’d been told that only time could help him heal.  In the meantime, he spent hours with both physical therapists who helped him with his body and psychological therapists who helped him understand what was and wasn’t real.  He was making slow, painful progress with the former.  The latter was much much harder than it was supposed to be. Medication was prescribed, followed by more therapy.  Eventually it was recommended that he spend some time in a rehabilitation center, where the staff could help him recover physically and mentally.

            My name is Dmitri Krushnic.  I’m a writer, writing under the name Misha Collins. Misha’s a good man, kind and generous, sweet, loving, and eternally optimistic.  The kind of man you want to know, be friends with.  He’s the closest you’ll ever find to a genuine angel on the Earth.  In other words, he’s nothing like me.  There’s a reason I’m alone here, why no one comes to visit me.  There’s a reason no one cares much if I live or die.

            Spinal cord damage, they’d told him.  His lower vertebrae had been crushed, the nerves damaged. They were optimistic that he’d walk again, in time.  He used to go jogging every morning.  Now he needed heavy braces just to stand, and the pain of it was awful.  Pain medication made his head foggy.  He avoided taking it when he could.  The psych meds were worse.  They wouldn’t let him refuse those.  If he wouldn’t take the pills, they held him down and injected him. They’d done it many times when he’d first come here.  He didn’t remember much of his first few days, most of which were spent sedated and restrained, screaming that everyone was lying, that this wasn’t real, please just tell him what had happened to his friends.  It was for his own good.  They’d explained that he was considered a danger to himself and others.  He’d screamed at his wife to get out and then physically attacked the hospital staff when they’d tried to force him to take medication to calm him.  He’d even hurt people despite his own injuries.  Now he was here, where they were trying to help him.  Dmitri understood that.  He was an excellent patient who took his meds and diligently worked on his therapy.  He hadn’t shown any violent tendencies after those first few days.  He was doing well.  Once he completed his course of treatment, he’d go to a hearing which would determine if it was safe to release him to outpatient partial hospitalization.  His physical rehab would continue for some time. His psych treatments would continue indefinitely.

            My name is Dmitri Krushnic.  I’m a writer, writing under the name Misha Collins.  I have a whole back story for Misha that I draw on when I answer the occasional letter or do the occasional interview, but my real story is nothing like his.  I’m a college drop-out who can’t keep a steady job.  I married my high school sweetheart and she stuck with me even though I’m a serial adulterer who broke her heart time and time again.  She finally divorced me when I got into an accident coming home from my latest lover, called her horrible names in the emergency room, and threw her out.  She’s better off away from me anyway.  I long ago cut ties with my family.  Now I’m alone, with only my delusions for company.

            Take a step.  The pain was bad, but not so bad he’d have to take the pain medication. Most of the patients here were addicted to pain meds.  He didn’t want to join them.  Another step. His back burned.  His arms shook from the strain of supporting most of his weight.  “Alright, Dmitri, that’s good.  Sit back down.”

            He sank back into the wheelchair with relief. They took the braces off his legs, told him to wheel himself down to his group therapy session.  It was down in the day room.  He obeyed.  He’d gotten stronger, his arms pushing the wheels of the chair much easier.  Even the cast on his left arm wasn’t much of an impediment anymore.

            A set of legs appeared, stepping into his path. He paused.  “Excuse me.”

            “Hi, Dmitri!  You want your pain medicine?”

            Two white pills in a small cup.  She wasn’t supposed to pull them out unless he asked for them, but that didn’t matter here.  “No, thank you.”

            “No again?  Dmitri, you know what a pain in the ass it is when I have to waste narcotics! Come on, open those pretty lips and say ‘Ah’ for me!”

            Like she was actually going to waste them. He’d seen the plastic pouch she kept in her pocket.  The first time his doctor had looked at his records and noted he took his pain medication regularly, Dmitri had thought maybe he wasn’t the only crazy one.  But it didn’t take long to figure things out. He turned his face away.  “I don’t want them.”

            “You sure?”  Her finger stroked the side of his face suggestively.  “Are you positive I don’t have anything you want, Dmitri?”

            “I don’t want the pills.  Please throw them away.”

            She sighed.  “If you didn’t have those gorgeous blue eyes, I’d decide you were more trouble than you were worth.  Alright. Get going, you little devil!”

            I wasn’t always a devil.  Once, I played an angel.  Once, people came to conventions and paid to have their picture taken with me. And once, one of those pictures showed me with the wings of a real angel.

            No.  Not real. Focus, Dmitri.  He pushed his chair down the hall, moving away from her, conscious of her eyes on him.  Most of the female staff here considered him attractive.  His nurse today was one of his more persistent admirers.  At least that part of him still worked, although he had no doubt the experience would likely be more painful than pleasurable with his injuries.  He knew for a fact that sometimes the staff, patients, or a combination would hook up in the common areas after dark.  She hadn’t outright propositioned him yet, but it was likely coming.  Maybe he’d say yes.  Why not?  It wasn’t like he was married now, not that he’d ever let that stop him before.

            My name is Dmitri Krushnic.  I’m a writer, writing under the name Misha Collins.  I write historical dramas, looking back in history to find obscure figures.  I expand on their stories, bringing to life people whose lives would otherwise be forgotten.  My last novel was about a couple of siblings named Dean and Sam Winchester.  Dean was a fighter pilot in the Korean War.  Sam was a female member of a motorcycle club called the Blood Riders.  I made their boring lives exciting, brought them to life in a way they’d probably never lived in reality.  It came nowhere near the bestseller list, but it was still my most successful novel.

            His chair jerked a bit and then started to roll forward without his pushing it.  He relaxed.  “Hey, Jared.”

            Jared didn’t answer.  He never did.  Jared hadn’t said much since he was a child, when he’d been playing with matches and started a fire that took the life of his mother.  His father had abandoned him, leaving him in the foster care system until he aged out of it and ended up on the streets.  Jared was a drug addict, and a delusional schizophrenic.  He was convinced his mother had been killed by a demon and that Satan himself was after him, wanting to possess him and use him to try to take over the world.  That’s what he’d been shouting at the pharmacist when he’d been arrested trying to rob a drug store with a rusty bent hunting knife he was convinced could kill demons.  That’s what the staff said when they were gossiping about Jared, anyway.  Dmitri had never heard Jared’s voice.  Jared had somehow managed to overdose while he was being held for trial in prison, and now he couldn’t even feed himself.  He shuffled along, pushing Dmitri’s chair. Pushing people in wheelchairs was how Jared spent most of his time.  It had resulted in Jared getting physically assaulted by irritated patients more than once.

            “Left, Jared,” Dmitri called, pointing left.  “Through the door, please.  Thank you, my friend.”

            Jared obediently pushed him to the left, wheeling him through a door towards the circle of chairs.  It wasn’t hard to direct Jared when he was pushing a wheelchair. The problem came with getting him to stop.  Dmitri didn’t care.  That was the problem of the staff.  He was here, on time as usual.  Who cared that Jared was now pushing him around the room in a circle, largely ignoring the aide who was trying to get Jared to park Dmitri and sit down.

            My name is Dmitri Krushnic.  I’m a writer, writing under the name Misha Collins.  My latest novel was going to be about a young woman who lived long ago in a town near an unnamed desert.  She’s supposed to marry a man in her town that she loves, but instead she goes on a great mission of vital importance.  That mission leads her to the camp of a powerful warlord, who sees her beauty and desires her for himself.  She needs to decide if she’ll give in and give up on her love for the sake of her mission, or go back and let innocent people die.  Should be very dramatic.  I was going to call her Castiel.  Vickie argued with me, said that sounded more like a male name.  I thought it could go either way.  Then I fell in love with the idea that Castiel’s preferred gender was male, despite having a body like that. I still think it’s a great idea. My publisher thought I was trying to pander to the LBGTQ community, but I wasn’t.  It just feels right, like it was the real truth about Castiel.  I suppose that means I’ve been sicker than I thought for longer than I thought.  No wonder I finally went completely off the rails.

            “Alright, Jared, that’s enough.  Let go of Dmitri’s chair, he’s fine.  Now sit down, right there in the seat next to him, good job. Everyone, welcome, glad you could all make it for group today.”

            Dr. Novak was a striking woman, dark complexion, long black hair.  She looked exotic.  Dmitri always thought she’d make an amazing dancer.  The idea had not amused her.

            Unfortunately, her looks did nothing to make group therapy go by any faster.  Dmitri failed to understand the idea behind group therapy.  None of them suffered from group insanity, so what was the point of group therapy?  Bringing that up hadn’t amused her, either.  Dmitri had learned it was best to not challenge Dr. Novak too much.  She seemed to have no sense of humor and had accused him of trying to disrupt the group.  Ok, maybe he was trying to disrupt it a little.  God knew it needed disrupting.  Anything to make the hour drag by a little quicker.  As usual, Mel and Burt did nearly all of the talking.  Jared wandered off three times, providing the only real entertainment Dmitri had as he watched the poor aide steer him back and try, unsuccessfully, to keep him in his seat.  Craig picked his nose, wiping his fingers on the leg of his pants. Mark played with himself until Novak called him on it.  Then he reached for his neighbor’s crotch and was removed from the group.  The sun was too warm, coming through the window and shining on Dmitri, making him sweat.  It made the rim of his chair facing the window too hot.

            My name is Dmitri Krushnic...

            “Dmitri, why don’t you share with us today?”

            Dmitri blinked, caught off-guard and not paying attention.  “Um, what do you want me to share?”

            “What would you like to share?”

            If I tell you the first thing that comes to mind when you ask me that question, you’ll probably send me out with Mark.  Too bad you have no sense of humor.  “Things don’t make sense here,” he said instead.

            “What do you mean?”

            Why did therapists always answer questions with questions?  “Well, I never met Jared before, but I knew who he was and knew his name was Jared when I first saw him, when I was brought in here.  And I never met you, but I wrote about you.”

            “Dmitri, we talked about both of those things in your individual therapy sessions.” Novak’s voice was patient.  For once, it wasn’t a question.

            Dmitri shrugged.  “You asked me what I wanted to talk about.”

            “Alright.  Can you tell us what we discussed in regard to those two issues?”

            “That I never met Jared before I came here, and the girl I was writing about in my novel doesn’t bear any resemblance to you at all,” Dmitri recited.  “You showed me the pages.  And Jared’s last name isn’t Padalecki.  It’s Campbell.  If I’d really known him before I came here, I would have known that.”

            “And yet, you still choose to believe your own version of events.”

            One of the other patients snorted.  “Dmitri chooses to believe in his imaginary boyfriend, too!”

            “Dominic!”  Her tone was sharp.  “That is enough!  Group is a safe place, and we are not here to judge Dmitri or anyone else!”

            Dominic fell into a sullen silence.  He sent Dmitri a heated look.  Dmitri casually scratched behind his own ear with his middle finger, turning his head a bit so Dominic had an unobstructed view.

            Fortunately, Dr. Novak didn’t notice.  She was pointing to the wall.  “I was hoping you’d share about them.  The pictures your agent brought in?”

            They’d been a shock.  There was Dean Winchester in his pilot’s uniform, seated in his sabrejet having a smiling conversation with his mechanic.  And next to it was a picture of Sam Winchester.  She was leaning against her motorbike in her red leather vest, looking sullen and defiant.  Looking at them always made Dmitri feel a little queasy.  It was why he’d asked that the pictures be hung out here, rather than in his room.  “That’s Sam and Dean Winchester.  My publisher had the pictures enlarged and framed for me when my book started selling well.  The book was about them.”

            “I’ve read it.  It’s a very good story!”

            “Thank you.”

            “How do you feel when you look at those pictures?”

            Dmitri looked, and then quickly looked away.  “A little sick.”

            “Why?”

            “Because they make me think of the accident.  The one where I lost...  Where I got hurt.”

            “Do you think you can talk about the accident today, Dmitri?”  Novak’s voice was smooth, even, as though she had no idea how much the idea terrified him.

            Fuck it.  “Sure.  Let’s talk about it.”

            She was a great actress.  Except for a slight pause, she seemed unaffected.  “Can you tell us what happened?  What really happened?”

            “It was foggy, rainy.  And I was driving way too fast,” Dmitri recited.  “I’d been having another affair.  Vickie found out about it, called my mistress.  My mistress hadn’t known I was married.  She wasn’t happy about it.  She’d given me a less than warm welcome when I went to see her that night, so I was driving home pissed off, thinking about the fight I was about to have with my wife instead of paying attention to my driving.  I missed a curve and went off an embankment. They had to get me out with the jaws of life.  It’s a miracle that I didn’t kill someone innocent, the way I’d been driving.  I had no one in the car with me, but I had a head injury and I was confused.  I believed I had passengers, my boyfriend and our closest friend, and that they’d been badly hurt.  In the hospital, I attacked several people when they tried to get me to understand that the people I was asking about didn’t exist, tried to get me to take medicine. I even ordered my wife out.  It was the final straw for her, and she finally divorced my sorry ass.  I got to see a lawyer in my hospital room while I was recovering to sign the divorce papers.  Then I got sent to a 302 hearing, involuntarily psychiatric hospitalization. I told them what I believed was the truth, told them I wasn’t taking any damned meds and I was going to find my friends. I said that I’d go around or through anyone who got in my way.  They decided that I was a danger to myself and others due to my psychological state. That’s why I’m here.”

            “How clinical.  Do you believe that story?”

            “No.”

            “What do you believe, Dmitri?”

            There was a loud groan from Dmitri’s right. “Here we go!”

            “Dominic, final warning!  Go ahead, Dmitri.”

            Dmitri shook his head.  “I don’t know what I believe.  I don’t know what’s real and what isn’t anymore.  Nothing makes sense, nothing is what it should be.  But there are a few things that are constant. Jared is one.  You, and them?”  He pointed at the pictures.  “You’re another.  And Jensen. Jensen’s real.  He exists, and I’m in love with him, and I know he loves me back. I brought him back, called him back from the dead only to lose him again.  And now no one believes he even exists!”

            “I believe he is very real to you.”  Novak was smiling softly at him.  “Have you seen Jensen, spoken to him recently?”

            “No, sorry, but they don’t keep Ouija boards in the game room.  I looked. I thought about trying table tapping, but somehow I don’t think that’ll go so well, either.”

            “Dmitri, remember what we talked about, how humor is a defense mechanism that is not productive in therapy?”

            Of course he did.  He sighed and let his head roll back so he was staring at the ceiling.  “Sorry, Dr. Novak.”

            She was rising now, her chair creaking softly as she got up.  “Unfortunately, that’s all the time we have today.  Dmitri, I want to see you after lunch.”

            Dmitri grimaced.  “Yes, ma’am.”  He’d spent a lot of time as a kid in detention.  Now here he was, over forty, and once again, he was being called into the principal’s office.  Full circle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to come clean...
> 
> This is my first fic in this fandom, and using a new device, but it's pretty far from my first fic on AO3. I don't write SPN, but I was doing a complicated crossover fic with SPN in the fandom I do write when I got to actually meet Misha at a con. After that, I couldn't even watch the show because I could NOT separate the man from the character. I wrote this based on a dream I had in an attempt to break that jinx. It worked. Meanwhile, I retired from AO3 because I have a condition called hypergraphia which means I write pretty much constantly, kind of like an OCD kind of thing. So I would finish a story and be writing a new one in a month, meaning those boards got pretty spammed. For obvious reasons, people stopped reading. That's why I retired.
> 
> The spouse is pretty much the only person IRL who enjoys my stories and he didn't want me to retire. He encouraged me to put this up as a bit of an experiment, to find out if my writing just isn't what readers are looking for, or if I've just overstayed my welcome. Looking like a little bit of both. Bottom line, I don't intend to stay here or anywhere else, but those of you who have encouraged me? You have no idea how much you have meant!
> 
> Enjoy the rest of the story!


	19. Perdition

            Dmitri got into a fight at lunch.  It wasn’t his fault.  He’d been sitting with Jared feeding him and eating his own lunch when Dominic started making fun of the younger man.  Dmitri finally got tired of it and had thrown his juice in Dominic’s face. Dominic came storming around the table and swung at Dmitri.  Dmitri ducked and punched him in the stomach.  He had a strong right from his therapy and pushing his chair around, but Dominic was far from finished.  Dmitri was bracing for a beating, but then suddenly Jared dove on top of Dominic and all hell broke loose.  By the time everyone was pried apart, Dominic had a black eye, Jared was in a screaming fit being dragged away by the staff, and Dmitri was furious and had egg salad in his hair.  He was still breathing hard by the time he wheeled himself down to Dr. Novak’s office.

            “Putting Jared Campbell in isolation is complete and utter bullshit!”

            Novak glanced up from her paperwork.  “Hello, Dmitri.  I heard about the fight.”

            “Jared can’t help that he drools, ok?  If Dominic doesn’t like it, then sit at another table!  I keep his face as clean as I can, but liquids don’t always stay in his mouth.”

            “You’re still feeding him his meals?”

            “Yes, because the staff just shovels food into him and he’ll choke or he won’t eat, so they stop feeding him and that’s why he was so skinny when I first came!”

            “He has put on weight since you arrived.”

            “Of course he has.  If you treat him like a human being and just take your time feeding him, he’ll finish his plate.”  He held up his cast.  “Once this comes off, I can care for him a bit more.  And I’m keeping him, doc.  This is your official notice.  I’m taking Jared with me when I leave here.”

            “That’s not realistic, Dmitri.”

            “I’m not leaving him behind!  And I’m improving.  I’ll walk again, and I’m walking out of here with Jared.  I want to apply for legal guardianship.  There’s no reason I shouldn’t get it.  I don’t see anyone else waiting in line to claim him.”

            “It’s not that simple, Dmitri.  Jared is very disturbed and requires a great deal of care.”

            “I’ll provide it.  I provide it now to the best of my ability!  And don’t talk about my multiple failures in the past, alright? I’m not the same person now that I was before the accident.  I’ve changed in a lot of ways.  And I want Jared to be safe and cared for by someone who actually gives a shit about him. That’s me, alright?  No one else cares!  The nurses think he’s hot and I know damned well he would have been assaulted long ago if he wasn’t in diapers, but that’s pretty much the extent of it. Jared is my friend, and I will not leave him behind.  When I go, I am taking him with me!”

            “Alright, let’s talk about that.”  She tapped the file in front of her.  “Can you tell me what happened last night?”

            Dmitri groaned.  “How did I know that’s why you wanted me to come talk to you?  It’s simple.  That aide, Sandra?  She’s lazy and she doesn’t care about her patients.  Jared and a couple other guys were walking around soaking wet because she couldn’t be bothered to change them.  So I took Jared back to his room, took him into the bathroom, and tried to help him get cleaned up.”  He raised his arm in its cast again.  “I knew with this on I wouldn’t be able to do it.  But I got him a fresh pair of pants and a dry diaper.  Jared can follow directions if you’re real patient with him and guide his hands a little.  He was out of the wet stuff and cleaning himself off when Sandra finally decided to answer the light, threw a fit, and pushed me out.  Let me guess.  She’s trying to claim I was assaulting him?”

            “No, actually.  She said it wasn’t appropriate that you were in there with him, but that she never saw you touch him and Jared appeared to be in no distress.”

            “Except for the fact that his groin was beet red from marinating in his own piss for hours!  Is that appropriate, Dr. Novak?”

            “This isn’t the first time you’ve gotten involved with Mr. Campbell’s personal care.  You became very agitated when he was scheduled for a haircut.”

            “He likes his hair long!  It was too short when I got here.  Now it’s more like it should be.”

            “And you got agitated again when you purchased some hair care products for Mr. Campbell that the staff failed to use.”

            “What’s wrong with wanting to properly wash and condition his hair?  Jared’s got beautiful hair if it’s taken care of.  I’d do it myself if I had both arms.  Your staff is just lazy!  Would they want to wash their hair with that cheap body wash this place provides?!”

            “You’ve made multiple purchases for Mr. Campbell, including clothing and, what are beanies?”

            “Hats.  Like the one he had on today.  He likes those, wears them all the time.”

            “Is he putting them on, or are you?”

            “Dr. Novak, Jared isn’t really capable of dressing himself.  There’s a reason I’m feeding him and why I had to help him get cleaned up last night. But trust me, he likes them.”

            “How do you know that, when he isn’t capable of communication?”

            “Nope.  Not going there.  Next question, please?”

            She folded her hands on her desk.  “How, exactly, would you describe your relationship with Jared Campbell?”

            “I know you’re not trying to insinuate something, Dr. Novak.  My sexual preferences have no bearing here.  Sandra’s got a boyfriend so she’s hetero or bi, and she cleans up these guys all the time, but does anyone try to insinuate anything about her?”

            “I wasn’t insinuating anything.  I simply asked a question.”

            “Fine.  I think of Jared as a brother.  He means a lot to me.  I won’t stand for him being mistreated or not properly cared for.  I want legal guardianship of him.  I’m taking him with me when I leave.  I can take way better care of him than your staff!”

            “You think of him as a brother.  You’re convinced that you understand personal things about him, such as clothing preferences or how long he wants his hair. But you don’t know him at all. Prior to your coming here, you never met him.  It’s wonderful that you care about and try to help him, Dmitri, but I’m having difficulty believing that you have a realistic view of Mr. Campbell.  You’ve told me that you had two passengers in your car the night of your accident, Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki.  And you said the last you knew about Padalecki, he was dying or brain dead.  Now you’ve taken this intense personal interest in a man with the name Jared who is severely challenged cognitively due to his overdose.  And you act as though you knew him from before his overdose, in that you understand personal details you couldn’t possibly know.  Do you see the concern?”

            “Why don’t you spell it out for me, doc?”

            Her gaze was level as she looked at him.  “It is my considered professional opinion that you are still confusing Mr. Campbell with this Jared Padalecki you believe you knew.”

            “That’s your considered professional opinion, huh?” Dmitri spat, bitter.  “You’re not going to let me have him, are you?  Fine.  I’ll just care for him while we’re both here, and once I go, I’ll visit him every day to make sure your staff is taking care of him!  I’ll also get a lawyer, get to work on obtaining legal guardianship from the outside.  I don’t have a lot of money, doc, but I’ll spend whatever it takes to get Jared the hell out of here!”

            “You realize my opinion will play a part in that as well?”

            “Then I guess I’ll just have to change your opinion! You’re all about setting goals and moving to attain them, right?  Well, there you have a set of short and long-term goals for me.  Write this down.  Dmitri Krushnic’s short-term goal is to change the mind of Dr. Novak in regards to his relationship with Jared Campbell, so that Dr. Novak understands that Dmitri Krushnic is willing and able to provide the best care for Jared Campbell on a permanent basis.  Dmitri Krushnic’s long-term goal is to obtain legal guardianship of Jared Campbell and get him out of this hellhole.”  He chuckled. “I’ll grip him tight and raise him from Perdition!”

            Novak leaned back and seemed to study him. “Alright.  If that’s what you wish, I’ll make those your personal goals. We’ll determine as we go if they meet the three standards.”

            “Reasonable, realistic, and attainable.  See, I was paying attention.”

            Her eyebrows went up.  “Very good!  Now, let’s stop talking about Mr. Campbell and talk about you, Dmitri.  Your primary stated goal has always been to be released to partial hospitalization.”

            “Actually, it’s to be released from hospitalization altogether, but let’s go with that.”

            “Fine.  In order to be deemed not a threat to yourself or others, you need to demonstrate adequate self-control.  Do you believe that you demonstrated that in the lunch room today?”

            “Fucking Dominic was calling Jared a drooling idiot and laughing at him, and the staff didn’t do a damned thing about it!  He deserved a juice in the face.  He’s the one who came and swung at me!  And Jared only attacked him because Dominic was attacking me and it freaked him out.  He was only trying to protect me!  He’s not violent!  You need to get Jared out of isolation!”

            “I cannot discuss Mr. Campbell’s treatment.”

            “How is locking him in a padded room considered treatment?!”

            “You said yourself he was freaked out, Dmitri. Isolation is to help him calm.  It took four orderlies to drag him out of there. The fact that you were screaming and two aides had to hold you back in your chair as they took Campbell out did not help things.  I have actually been asked to consider recommending isolation for you, as well. Your behavior when it comes to Mr. Campbell has been increasingly aggressive.”

            “For fuck’s sake, if they would have just taken their stinking hands off of us both, I could have calmed Jared down.  God knows I’ve done it before...”

            Her eyebrows shot up.  “He’s become aggressive before?”

            Dmitri sputtered.  “No!  But sometimes he gets upset, especially when the other patients act up.  As long as I can get him away, I can always talk him down. Jared trusts me.”

            “Dmitri, Jared responds to stimuli like agitation or a gentle voice.  That is why he needed removed.  At lunch today, you had anything but a gentle voice when you were screaming and cursing at Dominic.”

            “Fine, then lock me up!  Just let Jared out!”

            “Dmitri, I think perhaps it’s best if you stayed away from Mr. Campbell for a time.”

            He sighed.  “Alright, if that’s what you think is best.”  Not a chance.  He’d stop seeking Jared out during the day, figure out some way to smuggle food out and feed Jared at night.  And God help the staff if they didn’t make an effort to care for Jared during the day.

            “Here is the bottom line.  Overall, you have shown marked improvement.  While your delusions remain, you are far more able to distinguish between them and reality than you once were.  You’re sassy, Dmitri.  You’re defiant and tend to buck authority, but you’re not dangerous.  Except when it comes to Jared Campbell.  Then everything changes.  I have reports that you threatened staff with your cast, ran into them with your wheelchair, pounded your fist on tables, told one staff member you were going to slash her tires...”

            “How the hell could I slash her tires?  We don’t even get real silverware around here!”

            “Did you intentionally trip Sandra in the hall with one of your braces?”

            “Maybe?”  He caught her look and groaned.  “She slapped Jared’s hand!  She was pulling too hard while she was combing his hair and he was trying to push her away, so she slapped his hand.  She needs fired!”

            “And what did you say after you tripped her?”

            He slumped.  “That the next time she raised her hand to him, I was going to shove my wheelchair right up her ass.”  He frowned at her.  “Why the hell am I being called out for protecting your patients, doctor?  Why the hell do I have to?  What kind of place is this that it’s ok for your staff to treat Jared like that?”

            “Well, then perhaps this is good news.  Dmitri, this center is for short stay rehabilitation only.  But Jared needs long-term care.”

            “I’ll provide it.”

            “You can’t, not until you complete your own treatment.  We’d known for some time we needed to look at other options for Mr. Campbell, but now that matter has become a bit more pressing.”

            Dmitri looked up.  “Other options?  Wait, what are you saying?  You’re sending Jared away?!”

            “I know you feel very strongly about him. But the fact is, your relationship with Mr. Campbell isn’t healthy for either one of you, and is actually proving detrimental for your treatment.”

            “That’s bullshit!  You said yourself he’s put on weight since I started feeding him, and I’m making sure he’s getting proper care!  He’s doing better with me!”

            “Mr. Campbell hasn’t assaulted anyone else since well before his admission here.  But today, he became so agitated after you got into a fight that it required multiple staff members, restraints, and heavy sedation to ensure everyone’s safety, including his.  Do you believe he’s doing better?”

            “Don’t,” Dmitri pleaded.  “Please don’t take Jared away!  I’ll do better, I won’t threaten anyone else or start any more fights.  Just let me take care of him!  Let me make sure he’s alright!”

            “I’m afraid the decision has already been made. Mr. Campbell will be transferred to a group home for long-term care.  It really is best for you both.”

            “But who’s going to look after him?”  Dmitri was frantic.  “What if he’s mistreated?  He’ll lose weight again if they don’t feed him right!  How will I get to see him?”

            “Dmitri?”  Novak was watching him carefully.  “I know this is going to be difficult for you.  But it’s for the best.  You said yourself that you can’t care for Mr. Campbell right now until you heal.  So you can keep your new goals.  Focus on your own recovery.  Get stronger, physically, mentally, and emotionally. And then, when it’s safe to discharge you, if you still want to pursue guardianship of Mr. Campbell, well, that’s up to you.”

            Dammit, Jared, why did this have to happen?  No matter what, I just keep losing you. Dmitri slumped.  “Can I see him?”

            “Not now.  He’ll need to stay in isolation overnight.  Then we’ll monitor him for a few more days, make sure he’s not regressing to a more violent state.  And then he’ll be transferred to the group home.”

            That was that.  They were taking Jared, and there was nothing Dmitri could do to stop it except exactly what Novak had just suggested.  He squeezed his eyes shut.  “Could I get reports on him, how he’s doing?”

            “I’m afraid privacy laws only allow that information to be released to family members.”

            “I’m the only family he’s got!”

            “Dmitri?”

            “Yeah, yeah, I know.”  Don’t get angry.  Don’t throw anything or scream or threaten her.  Don’t do anything that might give them reason to keep you away from Jared any longer. You’ve got to convince them you’re fine, that you’re not crazy and you’re safe and happy and able to take care of yourself or they’ll never let you take care of Jared.  He forced himself to nod.  “I understand.  And I’ll keep my goals.”  His eyes fell to her desk, to the bronze plaque that sat at the front.  “Dr. C. Novak?  What does the C stand for?”

            “I think it’s time for your next physical therapy session, Mr. Krushnic.”

            Right.  Dmitri wheeled himself quietly out.  He noted with no surprise that two orderlies were standing outside of her office.  Of course.  Dmitri had already shown aggression when it came to his friend, and she’d just told him they were taking that friend away.  She’d probably believed Dmitri would, well, do exactly what he desperately wanted to do.  But no. Sorry, doctor.  You won this round, but the battle has only just begun.


	20. What Was Forgotten

            When a six foot four man falls and hits his head, it creates quite a bump.  Who knew? Jared had stitches on his temple now, covered with a dry dressing.  Dmitri had learned through various means that Jared, still groggy from being sedated, had fallen almost as soon as they’d taken him back to his room after being in isolation.  Dmitri noticed the staff watching him when he interacted with Jared.  But Dmitri behaved himself.  He’d asked for an ice pack and held it to Jared’s head as much as Jared would allow, made sure Jared’s wound was cared for and that he was given Tylenol regularly.  Jared didn’t seem too affected by it.  He still wandered, still pushed wheelchairs, still needed fed and changed and washed and cared for.  And Dmitri still did as much of it as he could manage.  They were taking Jared away.  Who gave a shit what Novak thought it did for his therapy now?  For as long as he could, Dmitri intended to care for his friend.  “I want you to hang in there, Jared.  This isn’t going to be forever.  And I refuse to give up on you!  I’m coming for you, alright?”

            Jared simply stared off into space and kept pushing Dmitri’s chair as he always did.  Dmitri reached back, found his hand and squeezed it gently.  No response.  Jared wouldn’t answer.  He never did. He wasn’t capable of answering.  He would be gone soon, and would Dmitri really ever see him again?  The idea of Jared being taken away made Dmitri feel sick with fear.  His heart ached at the thought of losing his friend, of Jared being in a long-term care facility where the staff might or might not properly care for someone with no family who couldn’t report abuse or defend himself.  But while he refused to give up hope, what could Dmitri realistically do about it?  Last night he’d tried to stand, tried to will his legs to work again.  But he’d tumbled to the ground, painfully wrenching his back to the point he had to bite back his scream.  It was all he could do to drag himself back up into his chair.  That night, he’d actually taken his pain medicine.  It helped ease the physical pain, but did nothing for the pain in his heart.

            The morning Jared was supposed to be transferred to another facility, Dmitri snuck out of bed early, got into his wheelchair, and wheeled down to Jared’s room, being careful to avoid being seen by the staff. Inside, Jared was already packed to go. All of Jared’s belongings fit into a single cardboard box.  Next to the box was a partially full bag of adult diapers.  They took up more room than the objects in the box.  That seemed somehow fitting.

            Jared was already awake despite the early hour. He was sitting on his bed with his eyes open, staring off into space.  He’d start wandering the halls soon, looking for wheelchairs to push.

            Dmitri wheeled himself up to Jared’s bed, moving into his line of vision.  Jared didn’t look up as Dmitri took his friend’s hand.  “Jared?  I know you can hear me.  Can you please at least look at me, squeeze my hand, anything to let me know you’re there?”

            No response.  Jared’s eyes were dull, empty.

            Dmitri puttered around Jared’s room, managing to get Jared washed up and dressed for the day for the last time.  Jared was still good at following directions if you were patient.  Dmitri was very patient, using the electric razor to tame his friend’s stubble.  No point in brushing his teeth before breakfast, but his hair needed tending.  Dmitri got into Jared’s bedside stand, found a comb and, much to his irritation, one of Jared’s beanies.  He quickly combed Jared’s hair and pulled the beanie on.  Now he looked right.  At least his new caretakers could see him how he usually looked, which meant a chance one of them might dress him properly.  Dmitri did a quick search of the room, found a few other small belongings of Jared’s and added them to the box.  Then he returned to the bed and got Jared to sit down.

            Jared obediently sat on the side of the bed, oblivious.  Dmitri again took his hand and clutched it to his chest.  “Dammit, Jared, I’m not delusional!  I don’t understand what’s happening.  I don’t know what happened that no one knows who Jensen is and you’re so alone and that you’re like this.  But I’m not giving up on either of you.  Someway, somehow, I’ll find a way to make this right!”  He shook his head.  “I keep losing you.  I already lost Jensen, but even in that other world when we were actors, I never really had him, did I?  He’d be with me, but he always went back to his wife.  But you?  I mean, it wasn’t like you were with me all the time, but you were always there, weren’t you?  It was always you.  And as much as I loved Jensen and still do, you were the anchor for all three of us, Jared. You’re the one who kept us all steady, kept us on course.  It was you that really told it like it was, even telling off Jensen that last day and ripping into me for letting him use me!  And you were right.  You were always right!  But now, you’re here, but you’re not here.  Soon you won’t be here at all.  They’re going to take you away, and I...”  He swallowed hard, grimacing.  “I have no idea what to do!”

            There was a sound, like jingling bells.  Dmitri turned, and saw the fluttering tail of a trench coat passing by in the hall.

            “Cas.”

            He whirled back to Jared.  Jared remained as he’d been, but it had been Jared who had spoken.  Dmitri was sure of it.  He looked hard into Jared’s dull eyes.  Nothing. No sign of recognition.  But what he’d just said...?

            Dmitri squeezed Jared’s hand and let it go, turning in his wheelchair and moving out to the hall.  He saw Dr. Novak, her keys in hand, about to unlock the door to her office.  The tan trench coat she wore was achingly familiar.  Dmitri quickly wheeled down to her.  “Your name,” he called.  “It’s Castiel, isn’t it?  Castiel Novak!”

            “As much as it matters to you, yes.”  She’d unlocked the door, but she’d stopped, looking down at Dmitri.  She cocked an eyebrow, seeing his open stare.  “You know, it’s not polite to stare at a lady.”

            “I’m not staring at a lady.  You have a woman’s body, and you dress like a woman. But you’re a man, Dr. Novak.”

            The doctor gave a slow nod.  “That isn’t something I usually advertise,” he confessed. “Most people see what’s in front of them, and they don’t understand.”

            “I understand.”

            “Do you?”  He pursed his lips, seeming to study Dmitri for a moment.  Then he stepped into his office, gesturing for Dmitri to follow.  Dmitri rolled in, waiting as Novak switched on the light and took a seat behind his desk, where he regarded Dmitri.  “You have questions.”

            “Why am I here?” Dmitri asked.  “Not this facility, but here, this world?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “I mean I’ll never get out of here.  And if I lose Jared, I’ll never see him again. This place, it’s a prison for me. I want out.  How do I get out?”

            He was still looking at his patient, his eyes somewhat squinted and his head cocked slightly to one side.  “Only you can do that, Dmitri.  This is a prison of your own making, designed by you, for you. If you want out, you’re going to have to do that yourself.”

            “How?”

            “Only you can answer that.” 

            “Then why are you here?”

            “You know the answer to that, too.”

            “Do I?”  Dmitri glanced over the items on Novak’s desk.  He’d been in here many times, through hours of therapy sessions, but he’d never really taken the time to really explore the doctor’s desk.  His eyes fell now on a large picture frame. He reached for it.  “May I?”

            “You may.”

            Dmitri picked up the picture, turned it around, already suspecting what he would find.  There it was.  Himself, at the photo op, with the impossible wings rising from his back.  But the wings had changed.  Now they were black, shadowy appendages that rose over the shoulders of the oblivious actor.  Dmitri stared at it.  “You did this to get my attention.  And you did! Because that was the moment when things started to change.  That was when I started to realize that something was wrong with that world, that it wasn’t right.  I kept seeing that wrongness, saw more and more until finally I was able to break free. But now I’m here.  And this world isn’t right, either.  But it’s a much stronger prison than the other world ever was.  I’m trapped in this building, trapped in my broken body, trapped in my own fractured mind.  And I don’t know how I can get out of it!”  He looked up, meeting Novak’s eyes as the doctor looked quietly back at him. “I know why you’re here,” Dmitri announced, handing the picture back.  “You’ve been watching over me.  You watched Jensen in that other world, but really I’m the one that all three of you watched.  And after all this time, you’re still watching over me!  I think it’s time you started giving me some answers, don’t you think?”

            His answer was a smile.  “Dmitri, all of the answers you seek?  They’re inside of you.  You need only to seek them out.”

            “But how?”

            “You know how.  I have no more easy answers for you.  Now it’s time for you to find your answers for yourself.”  He got up and moved behind Dmitri, turning him in his wheelchair.  Then he pushed Dmitri out of the door.  Once outside, he stepped around Dmitri’s wheelchair and smiled down at him. “Think it over.  And when you have those answers, call for me.”

            “On your phone?”

            “You know better than that.”  Dr. Novak gave Dmitri’s shoulder a squeeze.  “I’ll be waiting.”  Then he moved past the wheelchair, returning to his office.

            Dmitri headed back to his room.  His room had a sink with a mirror, placed conveniently low so that it could be easily used by someone in a wheelchair.  He rolled up to the mirror and stared into it.  Blue eyes stared back at him.  Dark hair, combed neatly down.  The wounds on his face from the accident were healing nicely, although there would likely be scars.  A cast was on his left arm.  “This is wrong,” he told his reflection.  “This world is a prison for me.  But that other world wasn’t right, either!  Both of them were just varying degrees of wrong.  I don’t understand.”

            He paused, staring at his reflection.  The man in the mirror was squinting in confusion with his head cocked slightly to one side, a puzzled expression on his face.

            “Alright.  It’s wrong.  But it can’t all be completely wrong.  So, what’s right?”

            He considered that for a moment.  Then he wheeled down to the activities room.

            The pictures of Dean and Sam Winchester still hung on the walls.  Beneath each picture was a small sign, giving their dates of birth and death and a bit of information on who they were.  Dean was a combat pilot during the Korean War.  Sam was part of a motorcycle gang.  This was right.  It was, in fact, the only thing right about this entire world he’d found himself in here. He took a deep breath.  “Castiel?” he called.

            “I’m here.”

            Dmitri closed his eyes, hearing the sound of bells as Cas approached.  “Dean said something to me, when I spoke with him before.  He said that I knew him from the inside out.  I knew all three of you.  I thought he meant that I’d been intimate with you, and that didn’t make any sense because you were all born and died before I was born.  But I was wrong.  I was alive when you were.  I’ve been alive a very, very long time.”

            “You’ve forgotten something, Dmitri,” Cas urged. “Something important.  And until you remember, you can never leave this place.”

            “You’re right.”  He looked up at the walls, at the pictures of Sam and Dean.  Then he looked at the doctor.  “I thought I’d forgotten the three of you, who you were. But the people in the pictures on the wall?  They’re exactly who the signs under them say they are.  You’re different.  You’re not at all who you say you are.  But you’re not an angel.”

            He put his hands into the pockets of his trench coat and cocked an eyebrow at Dmitri.  “You’re sure about that?”

            “Yes.”  No hesitation.  “I haven’t quite gotten to the point where I remember it all, but I know you’re not a psychiatrist, either.”

            “How do you know that?”

            “Because there were no psychiatrists when you lived.”

            Cas leaned back, studying Dmitri.  “Go on?”

            “You lived in a time before electric lighting, before locomotives or steam engines.  A time back before the year humans designate as the birth of Christ. You come from a time when roaming nomads lived in tents in the desert and visited your town at the edge of it. And you were to be married, to a good man with a good name who understood the truth about you, who you really were.”

            “Let’s back up.”  The doctor waved towards the pictures on the wall.  “You said the signs under the pictures say who they are. How do you know that?”

            “Because it’s true.  Sam and Dean Winchester are a broken branch from a very special family tree, one that I, and those I worked with, were trying very hard to cultivate. Although they weren’t in the direct line we were interested in, they were part of the family.  As such, they had the ability present in that family. I could use them.  I did use them.”

            “How?”

            Dmitri indicated Dean’s picture.  “Dean was in Korea.  There was a young girl there who needed to survive the war.  Dean was a pilot.  With his help, I was able to reach her, arrange for her to get out of the country.  We saved her so that she would eventually travel to Vietnam, and provide intelligence for the United States Marines during the fighting there, intelligence that prevented one particular unit of Marines from walking into an ambush that none of them would have survived.”

            “And his sister?”

            “Sam was able to help me find a boy and convince him not to run away, to continue on his path and join the Marines.  He would lead a unit that contained a distant cousin of Sam and Dean’s, one that had to survive, come home, and father two sons. Those sons came to be because the man Sam helped me with stayed back to cover the retreat of his fellow Marines, was badly injured, and eventually died of his injuries.  But his sacrifice allowed those two sons to be born.”  Dmitri looked at the pictures.  “Once Sam and Dean did their part, I had no more use for them.  So I left them behind.  And as a result of that, they both died.  They trusted me, gave everything they could to help me even though they couldn’t know just how important those people were, how vital it was that two brothers be born. They did it because I promised them that my mission would save the world.  But they died calling my name, asking me why I’d left them behind to die. I sacrificed Sam and Dean without a thought to make that happen.  Just as I sacrificed you.”

            “And who was I, Dmitri?”

            “A young man in a woman’s body, in a land where few understood who you were.  But you had found a good man who did understand you, and were promised to be married.  You were eagerly waiting for your wedding day.  But I came to you, asked you for help.  I needed to distract a war caravan that was passing near your town, needed to hold it back one more day in order to prevent them from running into a traveling family group.  We went to their leader, asked him to stay.  But he didn’t care, wouldn’t listen.  He was only interested in your beauty.  He would halt his process only on the condition that you become his concubine. Without your consent, without even consulting you, I agreed.  And so we dressed in white silk, with silver bells on our wrists and ankles, and we danced for him and his men.  We danced, and they cheered, and they didn’t pack up to move on.  When he took us to his tent, I knew he would stay and so I left, went to check on the family group.  Because among their number was a woman whose line would eventually produce those same two brothers.  And that was the only thing that mattered.”  He looked up, meeting the eyes that looked intently at him.  “You were my first.  I never knew your name.  I cared nothing for you.  It wasn’t until I went back to make certain the war caravan would not again cross paths with that family group that I discovered you’d run from his tent, run back to your home still in your dancing costume, and that the warlord followed. That he’d slaughtered everyone in your town before moving on.”

            He was looking at Dmitri now, not with anger, but with sadness.  “Because of you?  I lost everyone I knew, my family, everyone I cared about.  And what they did to me was unspeakable.  How could you care so little?”

            “Because you were my first.  I knew you from the inside out, but I never actually knew you. I saw you only as a tool, a means to an end.  Dean came much later.  He was a tool as well, as was his sister.  But at least them I acknowledged.  I knew their names.  For them, at least, I felt guilt.  There had been so many before Dean and Sam, but none that I hurt the way I’d hurt them, the way I’d hurt you.  And I forgot all three of you.  I simply told myself that my work, my mission, was more important than your pain.  And for the longest time, I believed that.  I’m sorry, Castiel.”  Dmitri reached out, took his hand.  “I’m so sorry for what I did to you, to all three of you.  I left so many behind, lost and confused, after they agreed to help me.  But the three of you gave up everything, and I simply forgot you.  That’s why you’re here now, aren’t you?  To remind me of what I’ve done.”

            “No.”  Dean put a hand on Dmitri’s shoulder, and Dmitri looked up to see a soft smile on the pilot’s face.  “We’re not here to remind you of what you’ve done.  That’s secondary, and can’t really be helped.”

            “But the three of us are the ones you buried deepest,” Sam added, taking his other shoulder.  “That made us the last ones you could remember.  If you could remember us, you could remember it all.”

            Cas squeezed his hand.  “The pain we cause you is new.  When you left us to our fates, you were able to forget us because you believed only in your mission.  But recently, something has changed, something that made you focus far less on the mission, and more on those individuals hurt in your quest to attain it.”

            Dmitri nodded.  “I stopped thinking of humans as tools to be used.”

            “And now you’ve forgotten something else. Something important.  Do you remember now, when you see the three of us?”

            Dmitri looked.  He saw Sam in her red leather biker’s cut.  Dean wore his pilot’s uniform and leather helmet.  And Castiel wore his white silk dancing costume, silver bells jingling at his wrists and ankles.  Dmitri looked at all three, took a deep breath and nodded.  “I remember you,” he called as he rose from the wheelchair, got to his feet.  “I remember all of you.  And I know what it is that I forgot.”

            “What did you forget?”

            He stepped back, moving so he could see the three of them.  “I’ve forgotten who I am.”

            “And who are you?”

            “Castiel.”  He raised his head and spread his wings, feeling the damaged appendages rise behind him, feeling his Grace burn in his eyes.  “I’m an angel of the Lord.”

            Silence, darkness.  Castiel looked around himself, saw nothing but darkness.  But he was himself again, back on his feet, back in the familiar trench coat.  Once more, his memory stretched back through the ages, lingering on the three vessels he’d wronged so badly.  He lowered his head.  “Thank you.”

            No answer.  It didn’t matter.  The angel reached out, seeking an exit.  But there was none.  Frowning, he turned around.  Darkness all around.  This wasn’t any prison, and yet it was familiar.  He knew this place.  It was a mind, a human mind.  Of course. Everything he’d seen, all the wrongness, was something he’d experienced before, walking in human dreams to communicate. But this was a mind like no other. This mind was powerful, strong enough to even bring down an angel, to force Castiel into a dream world locked within another dream world where his subconsciousness had become entangled with another’s.  He’d become trapped in ideas, lost all sense of reality.  But Castiel could sense no menace here.  What had been done to him hadn’t been intentional.  It was simply the act of an immensely powerful mind trying to defend itself.

            Castiel knew of only one capable of such a thing.

            Once more, he reached out, calling for one particular soul.  He found it.


	21. Sam

            Sam Winchester was sitting in the corner of a dark, empty room.  His long legs were pulled up to his chest, his arms folded on top of them and his chin resting on his arms.  His eyes were closed, his long hair partially covering his face.  But he opened his eyes and looked up with a small smile when Castiel approached and put a hand on his shoulder.  “Hey, Cas!”

            “Hello, Sam.”  He sank down to sit next to his friend and looked around the room. “What’s this?”

            Sam shrugged.  “I just wanted to be alone.  I’m kind of surprised to see you here.”

            “Yes, it seemed you weren’t really interested in talking.  Every time I got close enough to try, you kept leaving.”

            “Sorry.  It’s nothing personal, Cas, I just wanted to be alone for a little while.  But it’s fine.  Did you need something?”

            “It seems you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

            Sam nodded.  “I do.”

            “Regrets?”

            “Yeah.”

            “I wanted to see what I could do to help you.”

            “Don’t think there’s a whole lot you could help with, buddy, but I do appreciate it.”

            “I see.”  Castiel thought for a moment.  “Sam, are you worried about your brother?”

            Sam snorted.  “Only every minute of every day!”  He turned, frowning at Castiel.  “Funny you should ask about him, though, because he has been very much on my mind.  You know the problem with Dean?  He’s lonely! Dean’s never been in a serious relationship with anyone, you know?  He tried with Lisa, but that couldn’t last.  Even you and I end up coming in second!”

            “What are we second to?”

            “The world,” Sam said simply.  “Dean’s been taking care of me all my life, and God knows he’s thrown the world over for me more than once.  Lately, he’s done the same thing for you.  But in the end, he’s always going back to the world, trying to save the world.  And the world just kicks him for it!  You know what it’s like, Cas?  It’s like he’s married to the world, and he cheats on it with us, throws it over once in a while for me or you.  But he always goes back to his world.  And his world’s abusive.  The world beats the shit out of him, Cas, and Dean just laughs it off, makes excuses, and goes back to it.  But the thing is, any time he’s actually tried to quit hunting, and leave the world to its own devices?  It’s cost him whatever is good in his life.  He needs to get out of that relationship, but if he tries, well, the world ends up killing him.  Sometimes literally!”  He nodded. “That’s honestly the best analogy I have ever come up with for Dean’s life.”

            “You’re usually there at his side, Sam.”

            “Yeah, but I never seem to be able to help him. At best, I go down with him.  But Dean always seems to get the worst of it, you know?  Over and over, all the worst shit we end up dealing with falls on my brother.  I try my hardest, Cas, you know I do!  But I just can’t seem to be able to save him.”

            “So you feel helpless.”

            “I feel useless!”

            “I see.”  Castiel processed this.  “Sam, do you know where you are?”

            Sam looked around.  “It’s familiar.  I think I’ve been here before, but I couldn’t tell you exactly where it is.”

            “What about Dean?  Do you know where he is?”

            Sam waved a hand.  “Out there somewhere, I guess.  Why?  Don’t you know where he is?”

            “No, I know where he is.”

            “Then why aren’t you with him?” 

            “Because at the moment, you need me more.”  Castiel leaned against the wall, staying in close contact with his friend.  “You worry a lot about Dean, but is there anything specific that’s been bothering you?”

            Sam turned and looked intently at Castiel. “Cas, Dean goes on and on about what a nerd I am, how smart I am and so on and so forth.  But then he turns around and acts like I’m stupid.  You both do!”

            “What do you mean?”

            “I mean you guys act like I’m not right there, seeing the two of you and how you act with each other!  No, that’s not right.  You know I’m there, but you think I’m a drooling idiot, completely oblivious to what’s right in front of me!”

            “That does explain a few things.  But maybe I’m the drooling idiot here, because I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”

            Sam rolled his eyes.  “You and Dean are a pair.  Dancing around each other, both wanting the same thing but afraid to be the one to make the first move.  And you both think you’re hiding it well and I have no idea.  It drives me crazy sometimes!  Seriously, Cas, would you two just kiss already?!”

            That was the last thing Castiel had expected Sam to say.  “Wh-what? I don’t understand, why would you ask that?”

            “See, that is precisely what I mean!”  Sam was animated now, throwing his hands into the air and nodding his head.  “Do you seriously believe that I don’t see you, the way your eyes follow Dean, the way you act when he’s not around, or the way you light up when he walks into the room?  My brother is the best thing in your life and it’s obvious to anyone with eyes.  But you always hold yourself back!  You keep yourself in check, and Dean does the same thing, and I’d like to smack the both of you!”

            Castiel simply stared.  Sam sighed.  “Cas, listen. I know you like my brother.”

            “Of course.  Dean and I share a profound bond.”

            “Profound bond.  I love that, Cas.  It’s so completely true and at the same time such utter bullshit!  Cas, you are in love with my brother.  And guess what?  Dean loves you back!  But neither of you will ever make a move, because you’re both too stubborn or stupid or whatever your problem is that keeps you from going after what you both want! You are the one thing that Dean might give up hunting for, Cas, and you’re powerful enough that you could actually protect him when the world comes back after him.  You’re the only one who can save him!  And instead, where are you?  In here, chatting with me!”  He sighed. “I swear, the only time you two ever really show your true feelings for each other is when one or the other of you is in danger.  Then you go charging in, damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!  And yet, when it comes to yourselves, you both deny you’re in danger!”

            “You think I’m in danger?”

            “I think you’re an angel, and you’re way powerful and perfectly capable of taking care of yourself for the most part.  But there’s a lot of people out there who would try to hurt you, Cas, use you for their own ends.  It’s already happened more than once.  I wish you’d be more careful!”

            “People using me for their own ends?” Castiel mused. “Yes, I suppose I can see that. There are a lot of people who feel that because I’m an angel, it’s alright to treat me like an animal.”

            “And that’s why you need Dean as much as he needs you.”  Sam reached over and gave his arm a squeeze.  “You know, Cas, we both spent time in the same mental institution, but I think maybe you needed a bit more time there.”

            “Why’s that?”

            “Because you seem determined to believe that I’m completely oblivious, and that Dean’s not even there!”  He nudged Castiel playfully.  “That’s a delusion.  I hear they have meds for that.”

            So much was making sense now.  The thoughts that had been going through Sam’s powerful mind were ringing true now in more ways than one, especially combined with his own most secret thoughts.  Castiel considered.  “Sam?” he began.  “What do you think it would take for you to come out of here?”

            All of the humor left his friend’s face. Once again, the shoulders slumped. “Honestly, Cas?  I don’t think I want to!  I’ve been frustrated for a long time, but for some reason, it’s really weighing on me now.  I’m tired of feeling helpless, feeling useless while my brother gets beat down over and over, while you get set up and take the fall for someone else’s agenda, and you two both suffer in silence because you just will not admit to each other how you feel!  Can you even admit to yourself how you feel about Dean, Cas?”

            That was quite the question.  “How do I feel about Dean?” he mused.  “How do I feel about him?”  He took a deep breath.  “I always come when he calls.  I turned my back on Heaven, on all I’ve ever known since I was created, and joined the two of you.  When I touched him that first time, my hand burned its mark into his arm.  But he doesn’t know he marked me, too.  The first time I saw him, that Righteous Man, he was so lost.  He’d broken, he was tormenting others and he’d learned to enjoy it.  But even then, deep inside, he was sickened by what he’d become.  He didn’t know.  He couldn’t hear himself screaming, even louder than the soul he was tormenting. Every cut he made hurt him more than his victim.  And after I raised him up, when we spoke for the first time?  I realized quickly that he doesn’t believe he deserves to be saved.” He took Sam’s hand.  “You’re right, Sam.  Dean lets the entire world beat him down again and again because part of him thinks he deserves it.  And whatever he may feel for me, if I had to live without him?  I know that I’d be a broken shell of a being.  And the only thing that could keep me anchored in that case would be you.  If I lost you both?  I cannot imagine that I would want to go on.”

            “Cas?”  Sam’s voice was soft, despite the tight grip he had now on the angel’s hand.  “How do you feel about my brother?”

            “Afraid.  I realize now that I’ve been waiting for something, for him to initiate something. I’ve been afraid that if I ever took the wheel, initiated anything on my own?  I would only lead you both to disaster.  That’s why I never spoke to you about this either, Sam.  I’ve faced monsters and demons, archangels, leviathans, and Death himself.  Even the Darkness frightened me less than the idea that if I ever tried to drive my relationship with your brother forward, I would end up losing everything.”

            The grip on his hand would be painful if he was human.  “How do you feel about him?  Tell me the truth!”

            “I love Dean,” Castiel said.  “I love him.  I love him, Sam, and there is nothing I wouldn’t do for him.”

            “Except tell him!”  Sam let go of Castiel’s hand and shook his head, bitter again.

            Castiel studied him.  “If I did tell him, if I let Dean know how I felt?  Would you come out then, Sam?  Would you come back to us?”

            Sam’s head came up.  His eyes fixed on Castiel.  “You’d never do that!”

            “I will.”

            “When?”

            “Now.”  Castiel stood up, offered Sam his hand.  “Come with me, Sam, and I’ll give you what you want, what we both want.  I can’t promise you that I’ll make your brother happy, or that he’ll accept what I have to offer.  But I’ll give him the choice.  He can take it if he wishes.”

            Sam’s eyes went wide, his mouth spreading in a smile. He reached up and took Castiel’s hand. “Alright.”

            The human mind was an incredible, amazing thing. The field of psychology had been created and was constantly evolving to try to explain it, how the mind of a human could take concepts, abstract ideas, and give them a life of their own.  The human with him had the most remarkable mind of any Castiel had ever encountered.  Not even Lucifer himself could defeat Sam Winchester.  This man had been tortured in the Cage, his soul left behind for more punishment.  Even now, Castiel couldn’t say for certain if that hadn’t been somehow intentional, if he hadn’t known how badly Sam had been damaged and had subconsciously wanted to try to spare him.  The horror in Sam’s soul had broken him in the end, but not before he lived with it, night and day, for an astounding amount of time.  That same horror, when Castiel had taken it on, had broken the angel almost immediately, sent him into a coma until he could finally heal. Castiel knew he was no match for the power of Sam Winchester’s mind.  And without Sam’s help, he could never go back.

            With Sam’s help, it was easy.

            Dean sounded frantic.  He had hold of Castiel’s lapels and was shaking him. “Come on, Cas, wake your feathered ass up!  Sam is... Sammy!”

            Castiel found himself dropped without ceremony back onto the bed as Dean moved to the other motel bed to embrace his brother. “Oh, thank God!  Sammy, are you alright?”

            “I’m fine.”  Sam seemed confused.  “What happened?”

            “That!”  Dean pointed with disgust at a hex bag lying on the table.  “Some kind of dream curse.  You got smacked with it, went out, and we couldn’t bring you back. Rowena said it dragged you down into your deepest regrets, locked you into a dream state.  She said the only way to get you out was for someone to go in after you and convince you that your deepest regret could be changed, so Cas volunteered.  We took you in here, Cas got comfy, and he shut his eyes, went into your mind.  He said it shouldn’t take longer than a few minutes.  But then half an hour went by and he was still out too, and I couldn’t wake either one of you up!  You’ve both been out for nearly an hour!”  Dean looked profoundly irritated.  “Dammit, Sammy, between you and Cas, I swear, you two are going to give me a heart attack way before my diet does!”

            “So it was a dream.”  Sam looked disappointed.

            Castiel was getting to his feet.  He saw the way Sam’s eyes had flashed to him before looking away.  He moved closer, approaching Dean.  Dean, in his abusive marriage to a world that beat him, and that he couldn’t leave. Dean, who, despite their profound bond, Castiel had, in his own way, tried to pretend didn’t exist.  The one who, if Castiel ever tried to direct their relationship towards where he desperately wished it to go, would only end up hurt.  “Dean.”

            “Yeah, Cas?”

            Dean’s eyes widened in surprise when Castiel suddenly took hold of him.  But they widened even more when Castiel pulled him close and kissed him.  Dean’s hands flew up.  They fluttered like the wings of birds as his body grew stiff, but Dean didn’t try to pull away.  He froze instead.  Castiel deepened the kiss, licking at Dean’s lips.  Dean gasped, and Castiel’s tongue immediately slipped inside his mouth. Dean tasted like the apples and cinnamon in the pie he’d eaten at the diner prior to coming here.  His breath hitched.  Castiel once again took control, holding Dean tightly as he sealed his mouth over Dean’s and inhaled, drawing out Dean’s breath, making him gasp so that he could breathe back into him, mark him in some small fashion as his own.

            Dean made a small noise.  His hands came down, rested in Castiel’s shoulders.  He didn’t struggle, didn’t try to get away or pull Castiel closer.  He simply held on.  It was as though he were looking for an anchor.  Dean clung to Castiel.  He didn’t let go when Castiel finally pulled back and looked at him.  Dean’s lips were plump and moist from being kissed, still slightly parted.  His breaths were in little panting gasps, not quite hyperventilating.  The emerald eyes were staring in shock at Castiel.  Castiel looked back, watching to see how he’d react. But the confident, brash hunter didn’t seem to know what to do.  Dean’s tongue briefly appeared, quickly licked at his lips.  He opened his mouth as though he would speak, but nothing came out. He swallowed and then just stood there, staring at Castiel, his body trembling.

            From the bed, Sam cleared his throat loudly. “Well!  I think I’ve spent enough time lying around here.  I’m going to go, um, check the, ah, the odometer in the Impala. Outside.  Yeah.  Ok.” He scrambled to his feet and bolted for the door.  But he looked back once before going out.  His face was happier than Castiel had seen his friend in some time. Castiel gave him a wink.  Sam’s smile somehow grew even wider.  He winked back.  Then he quickly headed out the door.

            Dean was still trembling.  He was turning slightly in Castiel’s arms now, pushing against him.  “L-let go of me, ok, Cas?  You, you’re not yourself.  I think maybe that s-spell...”

            “Dean.  Look at me.”

            “It’s ok, really.  I mean, I get it.  You’re all kinds of messed up in the head, and...”

            Dean was still trying to get away.  By now, he should know better.  No human could match the strength of an angel.  “Dean?  Look at me. I’m not letting you go.”

            Dean was shaking like a leaf now.  “Please, Cas!”

            “No.  Look at me, Dean.”  He waited until Dean finally raised his eyes to meet his own.  “I love you.  I’ve been in love with you for some time now, and I didn’t tell you.  I’m telling you now.  I love you, Dean, and if you’ll let me?  I will spend the rest of eternity trying to make you happy.”

            Dean was a beautiful man, but he was exceptionally beautiful now.  His face flushed.  The long dark lashes dipped, lips still red from being kissed parted in a small O of surprise.  He sagged a bit in Cas’s arms, tightened his hands on the angel’s shoulders.  “I love you, too!”

            What had taken him so long?  Why had he waited so many years to tell Dean this, when they could have started their relationship together long ago if only one of them had taken the chance, made the first move?

            Regrets, indeed.


	22. Together

            “I,” Sam declared, “will be so glad to get back! The sexual tension in this motel room is smothering.  I want to get back to my own room, lock the door, and put on noise cancelling headphones. I’ve got a mini fridge in there, and...”

            “When the hell did you get a mini fridge, bitch?”

            “When you kept drinking all the beer, jerk! Anyway, I have a mini fridge, and I’ll load up on provisions.  You two can have the entire bunker.  I only ask three things.  One, please stay off the kitchen table or any food preparation surfaces.  Two, please disinfect anything outside of your room. And three, don’t ever, ever tell me about it.  Ever! I’m scarred for life as it is! Seeing you two ploughing each other would be worse than being back in the Cage.”

            Dean’s face flamed.  “Dammit, Sammy!”

            Castiel chuckled, moving towards the back seat of the Impala.  But Dean stopped him.  “Hey, Cas?”

            “Yes?”

            A set of keys bounced off of his chest, landed in his hands.  He looked up at Dean in surprise.

            Dean smiled.  “I’m beat.  Why don’t you get us back to the bunker?”

            Sam blinked, looking from one to the other. Castiel continued to stare at Dean, who gave him a smile and a nod, and then moved towards the passenger seat, indicating that Sam should move to the back.  Sam stared at him a moment longer, then smiled broadly.  He quickly climbed into the rear.  Dean stopped at the passenger seat, cocking an eyebrow at Castiel. “Cas, you gonna just stand there all day?  Come on, man, let’s get going!”

            Castiel nodded.  “I’d be honored.”

            Deja vu was something he’d heard about from humans. He’d never experienced it himself. But he couldn’t help but feel uneasy as he climbed behind the wheel and started the car.  Baby roared to life, the toy rattling in the vent when the fan kicked in.  He glanced to his right.

            Dean sat watching him, wearing that familiar cocky grin with just a touch of anxiety.  He cleared his throat.  “You will be careful, right, Cas?  This isn’t your pimpmobile!”

            A groan came from the back seat.  “Dammit, Dean!  Why must you ruin every moment?!”

            “Shut up, bitch!”

            “Just trust him, jerk!  Cas drives way better than you do anyway.”

            “Like hell!”

            Castiel smiled.  “She won’t get a scratch.”

            It was alright.  This, after all, was the real world.  The brothers had spent their lives in this car, been in more than one accident.  But now they had him there to protect them.  And he would protect them with his life.

            Castiel put the car in gear and started out.  As the miles rolled by and Dean finally relaxed and started chatting, Castiel could allow himself to relax as well.

            Finally, they were back at the bunker.  Sam bounded from the car, grabbed his stuff, and raced inside, yelling something about fifteen minutes.  Dean hovered near Castiel, seemingly fascinated by the floor of the garage.  “So, um, you and me?  We’re officially, you know, I mean we’re...?”

            “We’re a couple now.”

            “Yeah.  That.” Dean cleared his throat, still transfixed by the floor.  “So how do we, I mean, where do we go from here?”

            He gave a little squeak when Castiel’s arms went around him and he suddenly realized that the angel had moved to embrace him.  “You let me love you.  Will you, Dean?”

            Dean looked like a deer caught in the Impala’s headlights.  He nodded without a word.  “I’ve got, you know, stuff.  I had it for dates, you know?”  He cleared his throat.  “I mean, not that you’re getting sloppy seconds, but it’s not like I got it for you. I mean, I have absolutely no idea what I’m saying right now because you’re right here and you’re looking at me like that, and I still can’t believe this is happening!  You’re really, I mean, you’re an angel!  How the hell can you possibly want me?!”

            “I want you more than you can imagine.”  Castiel’s hand moved to the back of Dean’s head, pulling him into a gentle kiss.  “I won’t hurt you, Dean.”

            Dean sagged a bit, leaning against Castiel.  “I know.  I just don’t want to hurt you.”

            “It’s alright.  And I lied to you.  I will hurt you, Dean.  That’s inevitable.  But if you let me, I will always come back to you, always come when you call, and I will always be there at your side.  Would you like that?”

            Dean nodded.

            Castiel took his hand and led him into the bunker, giving Sam plenty of time to race around making whatever preparations he seemed to feel his brother’s new relationship with their best friend required. He saw a shaggy head duck back into a door and heard the door slam.  Then loud music came from Sam’s room.  Apparently, Sam had chosen to drown out any sounds he thought he might hear.

            “I hate him,” Dean grumbled.

            “I know.”  Castiel let go of Dean’s hand and put his arm around Dean’s waist instead. “I want to take care of you.  Will you let me?”

            Dean’s eyes were shining.  He nodded.  “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

            Castiel led Dean into his room, where he gently pushed Dean down onto his bed.  Dean’s breath was already fast, his eyes wide and anxious.  Castiel gently kissed him.  “I won’t hurt you.”

            “I know.  It’s just that, I’ve never been, you know, with a guy?  I don’t know how I feel about it.”

            “Would it be easier if you were on top?”

            Dean considered this, chewing his lip.  Then he shook his head.  “No.  I want you to take care of me.”

            “Then I will.”  Castiel slipped his hands under Dean’s shirt, pulled it up over his head. He ran his hands over the freckled chest.  Then he lowered his head, kissing and gently sucking, running his fingers down Dean’s sides.

            Dean, he discovered, was ticklish.  That was interesting.  Castiel held him down and gently traced his fingertips down Dean’s ribs, watching in delight as Dean laughed and squirmed.  “Quit it, you prick!”

            “But this is so much fun!”

            “We’re totally breaking up.”  But Dean was smiling.

            Castiel left his sensitive ribs alone, focusing instead on Dean’s nipples.  Dean was sensitive here, too.  He was writhing and moaning, squirming all over the bed.  He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, alternating between clinging to Castiel’s hair and clutching at his shoulders.  When Castiel’s hands dropped to undo his belt he gasped, and the angel paused.  “I won’t hurt you.”

            The hands tightened on his shoulders.  “I think I want you to hurt me a little?”

            “Alright.”  Castiel sucked hard on Dean’s nipple, drawing the little bud into his mouth and rolling it between his teeth.

            Dean cried out, arching his back.  His nails scraped on the shoulders of Castiel’s trench coat, then tugged frantically at it.  “Off, get this off!  I want to touch you.”

            Castiel immediately pulled off the coat, tossing it into a corner with Dean’s shirt, and quickly added the rest of his clothes. He finished undressing Dean and paused, staring, taking in the sight before him.  He ran his fingers over Dean’s body, brushing against each scar and knot that Dean’s life had given him.  Here was a bite mark from a rugaru.  There was a slash from the spike of a wraith.  The mark of a vampire’s teeth marred his collarbone, while a knife thrust left its mark on Dean’s bicep.  So many scars.  Dean had led such a hard life, saving the world.  It had hurt him so many times, but left him strong, purified like refined gold.  Castiel looked at him again, letting his eyes linger over every inch of this amazing man. Then he caught Dean’s eyes, saw the worry there, and smiled.  “You’re so beautiful!”

            Dean seemed to melt.  All of the tension went out of his muscles.  His eyes dropped, moving over Castiel’s body.  He reached up, brushing his hands over Castiel’s chest and abdomen before hesitating.

            Castiel had no such hesitation.  He reached down and grasped Dean, hearing his lover gasp as he flicked his thumb over the head, and smiled when he encountered the first drops of moisture.  Dean wanted to be hurt a little.  Alright. But not yet.  He moved down, his eyes locked with Dean’s, and lowered his mouth.

            It was everything he wanted.  Dean’s eyes grew wide, his jaw dropped as Castiel’s mouth enveloped him, drew him deep, tongue and teeth working.  “Where the hell did you learn to do that?!”

            “Your computer.  You’ve got a lot of porn on there, Dean.”

            “Son of a...  Oh!  Ok, never mind, I don’t care where you learned how to do that, just keep doing it!”

            Castiel did.  He went to work on making Dean come undone, watching with delight as Dean started thrashing, his hands flailing wildly over the sheets of his bed, knocking items down from his bedside table and sending his pillow flying. “Cas!  I’m gonna...  Oh, you prick!”

            “Not yet.”  Castiel smiled up from where he’d pinched his fingers around the base of Dean’s cock, keeping him from coming.  “Not until I’m ready.”

            Dean tensed up a bit when he saw Castiel reach into his bedside table, searching in the drawer and producing the lube. Castiel smiled at him and began moving the hand still on Dean’s cock, stroking him.  It worked.  Dean moaned and relaxed again.  But he tensed up once more when Castiel applied lube to his fingers and gently pressed against Dean’s entrance.  “Let me in, Dean.  Just relax.”

            Dean obediently relaxed, and suddenly Castiel’s fingers were inside of him.  He gently opened Dean, taking his time, making sure to stretch him even as his other hand continued to stroke him.  When he found Dean’s prostate Dean nearly jumped out of the bed, swearing loudly. Castiel laughed and received a dirty look.  He smiled. “Dean?  Are you ready for me now?”

            Anxiety etched itself into Dean’s features.  His hands clutched at the bedding.  But he nodded.

            Castiel moved up.  He retrieved the pillow Dean had knocked down and positioned it under Dean’s hips, raising them slightly.  Then he got the tube of lube again, applying it to himself.  “Relax,” he urged.  “Just breathe.  I’ll make it good.”

            Dean nodded again.  “I trust you.”

            Castiel lined up and slowly pushed his way inside. It was incredible.  Dean’s body was tense at first, but Castiel put a hand on Dean’s belly and he relaxed, allowing him to move further in.  He could feel every twitch as Dean’s body accepted him. Dean was gasping, his eyes wide. He trembled.  Castiel stopped and leaned forward, capturing his lips in a kiss. “I love you.”

            “I love you, too!”

            Castiel was able to move forward easily now, seating himself fully.  He waited, letting Dean adjust, get used to the feel of being stretched and filled. “You feel so incredible, Dean.  So amazing!  Thank you for letting me have you like this, for letting me be the first to touch you this way.”

            “I wanted it to be you.”  Dean’s voice was soft.  “I just didn’t know how to tell you.  I’m sorry.”

            “Don’t be.”  Castiel drew back.  Then he gripped Dean’s hips and slammed back forward.  Dean yelped, thrashed a bit on the bed.  “You said you wanted me to hurt you a little.  How was that?”

            “Yes, like that, please!”

            No need to ask twice.  Castiel started a steady rhythm, pounding into Dean, thrilling in the noises Dean was making as he took everything he had to give. Dean’s hands flailed at his chest. Castiel captured them, pausing as he pulled Dean up into another kiss.  Then he let go of Dean’s hands to get a better grip on Dean’s hips, changing his angle slightly.  Dean came completely undone.  The steady hammering against his prostate, combined with Castiel’s edging him earlier, was more than he could take.  He threw back his head and cried out as he came, hot liquid splashing against Castiel’s stomach.  It was easily the hottest thing Castiel had ever seen.  A bit more thrusting and he was coming as well, dumping deep into Dean.

            Dean was shaking.  His body was drenched in sweat as he lay, quivering, looking up at Castiel.  The open trust in his eyes was more than the angel could take.  Castiel pulled out and gathered Dean in his arms, carried him to the shower where he carefully cleaned them both off.

            Dean in reality was far better than he’d been in the dream world.  And Castiel had, in a fashion, had Dean there, too.  No wonder Sam wanted nothing to do with the reality of it.  Don’t even consider the fact that a version of Sam had been intimate with Sam’s distant cousin.  Another thing to never, ever discuss with Sam Winchester.  But it didn’t matter.  Everything that mattered was right here and now.

            Soft green eyes watched his every move, letting Castiel position him, trusting the angel completely.  Castiel dried them both.  Then he scooped Dean up again and carried him back to the bed.  Dean grumbled a little.  “I can walk, you know?”

            “Yes, I know.  And I don’t care.  I want to take care of you.”

            “Ok.”  No argument. That made Castiel smile.  Climbing in, he pulled Dean so his back was to Castiel’s chest and wrapped him in his arms.

            Dean gave a contented sigh.  “I could learn to live like this.”

            “I hope so.  I’m not going anywhere.”

            “Really?”  Dean was looking back at him now, and the hopeful light in his eyes made the angel’s heart ache.  “You’re staying?  Here? In the bunker, with me?”

            “Here in the bunker, or anywhere else you wish to go. I’ll stay with you for as long as you’ll have me, Dean, if that’s what you want.”

            “It’s what I want!  It’s what I’ve wanted for way too long!”  Dean twisted around to kiss him.  “Please stay?”

            “Alright.  I need to go back to Heaven tomorrow, but only for a little while.  Then I’ll come back, to you.”

            Dean was snuggling back against him, but he paused. “Heaven?  What’s in Heaven?”

            “Three souls,” Castiel explained.  “Former vessels of mine.  I need to speak with them.  I believe I owe them an apology.”

            Dean looked back at him in confusion.  But when Castiel didn’t speak again, he shrugged and relaxed.  And before long, he was asleep.

            Castiel held him, listening to him breathe, relishing the feel of the warm body in his arms.  Tomorrow, he’d see the three vessels, do what he could to apologize.  Maybe they’d accept it, and maybe they wouldn’t.  But they’d more than earned the right to that choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking to the end! I hope it has not been too confusing. If it has, check the comments on the last chapter. I tried to explain it to one reader, and that seemed to help another!


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